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M. 




MARIE ANTOINETTE AND HER THREE CHILDREN. 



iVURiE Antoinette 

AT THE TUILERIES 
1789-1791 



BY 



IMBERT DE SAINT-AMAND 



TRANSLATED BY 
ELIZABETH GILBERT MARTIN 



//X/ 
* J 



WITH PORTRAIT 

\r' 

NEW YORK 

CHARLES SCRIBNER'S SONS 

1891 







COPYRIGHT, 1891, 
BY CHARLES SCRIBNER'S SONS. 



CONTENTS. 



FIRST PART. 

CHAPTBB PAGE 

I. The Installation at the Tuileries 1 

II. A Visit from the National Assembly 10 

III. Paris at the Close of 1789 18 

IV. The Execution op the Marquis de Favras 26 

V. The Dauphin and Madame Royale 33 

VI. The Royal Family at Saint Cloud 41 

VII. Marie Antoinette's Interview with Mirabeau... 48 

VIII. The Festival of the Federation 58 

IX. MiRABEAu's Double Role 71 

X. The Departure of the King's Aunts 79 

XI. The Knights of the Poniard - 87 

XII. The Death of Mirabeau 92 

XIII. The Religious Question 103 

XIV. The Holy Week of 1791. 112 

SECOND PART. 

THE VARENNES JOURNEY. 

I. Preparations for Flight 122 

II. June Twentieth, 1791 131 

III. The Departure 137 

IV. June Twentieth, 1791, in Paris 144 

V. The Journey 150 

VI. The Arrest 159 

iii 



iv COJ^ TENTS. 



CHAPTEB PAGE 

VII. The Night at Varennes 167 

VIII. The Departure fro3i Varennes 176 

IX. The Return 183 

X. Marie Antoinette and Barnave 189 

XL Potion's Account 198 

XII. The Return to the Tuileries 210 

THIRD PART. 

THE CLOSE OF 1791. 

I. The Captivity in the Tuileries 222 

11. Paris during the Suspension of Royalty 231 

III. The Emigration 242 

IV. Acceptance of the Constitution 253 

V. Marie Antoinette's Last Evenings at the Theatre, 264 

VI. The Duke of Orleans in 1791 272 

VII. The Return of the Princess de Lamballe to the 

Tuileries 282 



Marie Antoinette 

AT THE TUILERIES 
1 789- 1 79 1 



FIRST PART, 



THE INSTALLATION AT THE TUILEEIES. 

THE drama of the Tuileries begins. It is the 
sixth of October, 1789. The hour is ten in the 
evening. After a day of indescribable suffering, the 
royal family, who left Versailles at one in the after- 
noon, had entered the H6tel de Ville at Paris toward 
nine o'clock. " It is always with pleasure and with 
confidence," Louis XVI. had said, " that I find my- 
self amidst the inhabitants of my good city of Paris." 
In repeating the King's discourse, the mayor, Bailly, 
had forgotten the words "with confidence." The 
Queen instantly recalled them. " Gentlemen," went 
on Bailly, "you are more fortunate than if I had 
said it myself." Then Louis XVI. and his family 
returned to the Tuileries. It was not without hes- 
itation and sadness that they entered. The palace 
seemed all the more sombre by reason of the con- 
trast between its black fagade and the illumina- 
tions in the neighboring streets. Uninhabited since 
the majority of Louis XV., it was gloomy, out of 

1 



MABIE ANTOINETTE. 



repair, unfurnished, and undecorated. The locks 
closed badly. The aspect was bleak, disastrous. 

On the morning of October 7 the Queen awakes 
in the Tuileries. What things had happened, what 
tragedies, what emotions within twenty-four hours ! 
Is it a nightmare ? Is it reality ? Yesterday it was 
still the city of the Sun-King, the splendid palace of 
Versailles. This morning it is the Tuileries, forbid- 
ding as a prison. What formidable cries are these, 
whose menacing echoes are still resounding in the 
sovereign's ears ? What are these lugubrious and 
bloody sights which she cannot banish from her 
eyes, — the bands of pikemen, the hideous prostitutes 
of the galleries of the Palais Royal, the infernal 
viragoes of the Revolution, the livid heads of the 
hapless, decapitated body-guards? Will these cries 
of hatred and assassination, these oaths, these blas- 
phemies, these insults, cease at last? Those re- 
ports of musketry, that storm of invectives and 
ferocious jests — can it be that they will not 
begin anew? This residence where Marie Antoi- 
nette, after a short and unquiet slumber, re-opens 
her eyes to the light — is it a palace or a dun- 
geon? What men are these who stand about the 
royal chamber? Are they servants, or jailers, or 
assassins ? These ragged women who crowd beneath 
the windows — what are they going to say? what are 
they going to do ? Will they force the chamber 
doors to-day as they did yesterday, and riddle with 
pike and sabre thrusts the bed of the Queen of 



THE INSTALLATION, 3 

France, the daughter of Maria Theresa ? What has 
befallen her ? What can the future have in store ? 
What may be hoped? what feared? How shall she 
hide the sentiments of indignation and sacred anger, 
which burst from a noble heart? What figure can 
she make in presence of this riotous upheaval ? How 
support the supreme humiliations which strike at the 
lineage of Saint Louis, of Henri IV., and Louis XIV. ? 
The atmosphere is overcharged with storms. Doom 
weighs heavily on this sinister palace which, alas ! 
was to be merely the vestibule of the scaffold. Marie 
Antoinette feels herself surrounded by furies. One 
might say that from every window, from every side 
of the wall, from behind each piece of furniture, 
poniards were aimed at the august victim. The most 
intrepid woman would tremble. Oh I what a morn- 
ing ! what an awakening ! 

And yet the rays of hope were here and there to 
shine through this overclouded sky. The presence 
of the King and his family in the capital produced a 
certain cessation of the storm. The bakers' shops 
were no longer besieged; there was sufficient food. 
The people thronged towards the Tuileries. The 
avenues, the courtyards, the gardens, were encum- 
bered by the crowd. In the morning of October 7, 
the same women, who, astride the cannons, had yester- 
day surrounded the carriage of the captive royal 
family with threats and insults, came underneath the 
Queen's windows, demanding to present their homage. 
Marie Antoinette showed herself to the crowd. As 



MABIE ANTOINUTTW. 



her bonnet partially shaded her face, she was besought 
to remove it, that she might be better seen. She 
granted the request. Royalty was no longer more 
than a plaything, with which the people amused 
themselves before breaking it. The women who yes- 
terday hung on to the steps of the royal carriage, 
clung fast to its doors, and leaned over Marie Antoi- 
nette, trying to touch her, to soil her with their 
breath, were now in parley with her. 

" Send away from you," said one, " all these cour- 
tiers who ruin kings. Love the inhabitants of your 
good city." 

" I loved them at Versailles," replied the Queen ; 
" I will love them just the same at Paris." 

" Yes, yes, " said another ; " but on the fourteenth 
of July you wanted to besiege the city and have it 
bombarded." 

"You were told so," answered the Queen, "and 
you believed it. It was that which caused the woes 
of the people and of the best of kings." 

A third woman addressed the sovereign in Ger- 
man. 

" German ! " said Marie Antoinette ; " I no longer 
understand it. I have become so thorough a French- 
woman that I have even forgotten my mother- 
tongue." 

There was a burst of applause. The women asked 
the Queen for the flowers and ribbons on her bonnet. 
She unfastened them herself and gave them away. 
The throng cried, "Long live our good Queen!" 



THE INSTALLATION. 



While the courtyards and the garden of the Tuile- 
ries were resounding with cheers, the body-guards, 
pale, drooping, and bearing still the marks of the 
distress they had endured the previous evening, were 
making the rounds of the public promenades, under 
the escort of the National Guards, yesterday their 
victors, to-day their comrades. They were received 
with sympathy on all sides. One would have said 
the reconciliation was complete. 

Throughout the day numberless deputations visited 
the King. Louis XVI., always an optimist, seemed 
to have forgotten totally the violence of the day be- 
fore. His courtiers were far from sharing his serenity. 
Etiquette was still maintained, but the gentlemen 
attached to his service fulfilled their duties sadly. 
The perpetual supervision of M. de Lafayette ; the 
presence of the National Guards, those soldiers of 
the Revolution; the absence of the body-guards, 
those soldiers of fidelity ; the invasion of the sanctu- 
ary of monarchy by a crowd of enemies or intruders ; 
the gradual diminution of the state indispensable .to 
the prestige of royalty ; the sadness of that fair and 
good Queen whose eyes were reddened by incessant 
tears; the progress of the revolutionary movement 
which menaced the liberty, the possessions, and the 
life of the French nobility, — all this struck unfeigned 
consternation to the hearts of the King's attendants. 

Many had already emigrated; but, on the other 
hand, there was one woman who, at the first mention 
of danger, had hastened to the post of honor and 



6 MARIE ANTOINETTE, 

devotion. It was the Princess de Lamballe. At nine 
in the evening of October 7 she was sitting tranquilly 
with her father-in-law, the Duke de Penthi^vre, in the 
castle of Eu, when a courier arrived at full speed, 
bringing the news of what had passed at Versailles 
during the last two days. " O papa," cried the Prin- 
cess, " what horrible events ! I must go at once." At 
midnight, in frightful weather and profound dark- 
ness, Madame de Lamballe left the castle of Eu, to 
repair in all haste to the Queen at Paris. She arrived 
there during the night of October 8, and took up her 
quarters on the ground-floor of the Pavilion of Flora. 
In her capacity as superintendent, she gave several 
soirees there, at some of which Marie Antoinette 
made her appearance. But as the Queen speedily 
became convinced that her position no longer per- 
mitted her attendance at large receptions, she re- 
mained in her own apartments, reading, praying, 
sewing, and supervising the education of her chil- 
dren. 

Madame Elisabeth wrote to the Abb^ de Lubersac 
on October 16 : " The Queen, who has had incredible 
courage, begins to be in better favor with the people. 
I hope that in time, and by unremitting prudence, 
we may regain the love of the Parisians, who have 
merely been deceived. But, sir, the people of Ver- 
sailles ! Have you ever seen more frightful ingrati- 
tude ? No ; I think that Heaven in wrath peopled 
that city with monsters out of hell. How long it 
will take to make them recognize their injustice! 



THE INSTALLATION. 



And if I were king, how long it would take me to 
believe in their repentance ! What ingrates toward 
an honest man ! Would you believe, sir, that all our 
misfortunes, far from bringing me back to God, give 
me a veritable disgust for all that relates to prayer? 
Beg of Heaven for me the grace not to abandon 
everything. . . . Ask also that the reverses of France 
may recall to a better mind those who have contrib- 
uted to them by their irreligion." 

During several days people continued to obstruct 
the courtyards of the Tuileries. Their indiscretion 
was carried to such a point that several market- 
women ventured to climb into the apartment of Ma- 
dame Elisabeth, who had rooms on the ground-floor 
of the Pavilion of Flora, on the side next the court- 
yard. The Princess was obliged to quit this apart- 
ment, and install herself on the first floor, in order 
to be sheltered from importunate glances and the 
invasions of the fishwomen. 

People who had been hired by the party of disor- 
der came every instant to make outrageous and in- 
decent remarks beneath the windows of the chateau. 
The revolutionists, in order to insult more deeply 
the majesty of the crown, sent men belonging to the 
dregs of the people to the King himself, under the 
title of delegates. The abuse was so great, that one 
of the Ministers proposed to forbid the entrance of 
such deputations into the palace. "No," said the 
unfortunate monarch ; " they may present them- 
selves; we shall have courage to listen to them." 



8 MARIE ANTOINETTE. 

One day when these pretended delegates were ha- 
ranguing Louis XVI., one of them dared to accuse 
the Queen, who was present, in most offensive terms. 
" You mistake," said the King, gently ; " the Queen 
and I have not the intentions with which we are cred- 
ited. We act in concert for your common welfare." 
When the deputation retired, Marie Antoinette fell 
to weeping. 

Augeard, her private secretary, gives an account in 
his very curious Memoirs, of a conversation he had with 
her soon after the days of October : " Your Majesty 
is a prisoner." — " My God ! what are you saying to 
me?" "Madame, it is most true. From the time 
when Your Majesty ceased to have a guard of honor, 
you were a prisoner." — " These men here, I contend, 
are more attentive than our guards." " The atten- 
tion of jailers. I will offer you no other proof of it, 
Madame, than to remind you of the precaution you 
have taken to see whether any one is listening at the 
doors. Would you have taken it with your guards ? " 
— "But what must be done, then ? " 

Augeard advised the Queen to rejoin her brother, 
the Emperor. He added : " I know only one wsij — 
but that is infallible — to save the King, yourself, 
your children, and all France. It is for you to go 
away with Madame Royale and the Dauphin, dress- 
ing him as a little girl, and go as a private person, — 
not as a queen or a princess. You could no longer 
be set up in opposition to the new Constitution they 
want to give us, and your lives would be safe." 



THE INSTALLATION. 



Augeard went on to develop a complete plan of 
escape. The Queen, with her children, and Madame 
Thibaut, her maid, were to go upon the roof, and 
descend from there by a flight of stairs which led to 
the Court of the Princes. She was to depart by way 
of this court, leaving at the Tuileries a letter ex- 
pressed in some such words as these : — 

"My MOST Honored Loed and August Spouse: 
After the attempts to assassinate me on the fifth and 
sixth of this month, I cannot conceal from myself 
that I have the frightful misfortune to displease my 
subjects. They imagine that I am opposed to the 
new Constitution they desire to give to your realm. 
In order to banish every shadow of suspicion which 
relates to me, I prefer to condemn myself to pro- 
found retreat outside of your dominions, which I 
shall not re-enter, my most honored and august 
spouse, until the Constitution shall have been estab- 
lished." 

This letter would be delivered to the King at his 
rising, the Queen having departed the night before. 

" No, no ; I will not go away ! " cried Marie 
Antoinette. "My duty is to die at the King's feet." 
The Queen was right. She remained courageously 
at the post of devotion and danger. Those who 
sought to persuade her to abandon her husband gave 
counsel unworthy of her lofty heart. By following 
such advice the daughter of the great Maria Theresa 
might have saved her life, but she would have lost 
something more desirable — her honor. 



II. 

A VISIT FEOM THE NATIONAL ASSEMBLY. 

THE monarchy, although shaken, still had tradi- 
tion and memory on its side. As yet no one 
spoke of a republic; and the future regicides, the 
Marats and the Robespierres themselves, were still 
royalists by conviction. Louis XVI. could not bring 
himself to believe that the nation was being estranged 
from him. The cheers with which he was greeted 
when he passed by nourished fatal illusions in his 
mind; and the ceremonious visit paid him by the 
National Assembly on October 20, 1789, increased 
the serene assurance which Marie Antoinette did not 
share, and to which he was to fall a victim. 

As soon as he arrived in Paris, he had written to 
the Assembly : — 

" Gentlemen : The affection displayed toward me 
by the inhabitants of my good city of Paris, and the 
urgency of the Commune, have decided me to make 
it my most habitual place of residence. As I am 
confident that you will be unwilling to separate from 
me, I desire that you should appoint commissioners 
to seek the most convenient location for you here. 
10 



A VISIT FBOM THE NATIONAL ASSEMBLY. 11 

I will at once give orders to have it got in readiness. 
Thus, without relaxing your useful labors, I shall 
render more prompt and easy the communications 
which mutual confidence makes increasingly neces- 
sary." 

Provisional choice was made of the great hall of 
the archbishop's palace. The Assembly sat there for 
the first time on October 20, and decided to wait 
on the King in a body. The visit took place at six 
o'clock the same evening. 

Etiquette was still maintained, and a resemblance 
between the apartments of the Tuileries and those 
of Versailles was soon established. There was a salon, 
which they called the (Eil-de-Boeuf, and the Gallery 
of Diana was devoted to the same purposes as had 
been the Gallery of the Mirrors. A person in the 
Carrousel, opposite the chateau, could see in front of 
him three courtyards, separated from each other by 
walls seven or eight feet high : on the left the Court 
of the Princes ; in the middle the Royal Court, which 
led to the Central Pavilion; and on the right the 
Swiss Court, leading to the Pavilion of Marsan. 
Those who came to visit the King entered by the 
Royal Court. On the right-hand side of the vesti- 
bule of the Central Pavilion was a large and hand- 
some staircase. On its first landing, and also on 
the right, was the chapel, which was very simple ; the 
sacristy was behind the altar, above which was the 
gallery for the musicians, opposite that of the King 
and Queen. At this landing the staircase divided 



12 MABIE ANTOINETTE. 

into two symmetrical parts ; that on the left conduct- 
ing to the hall called the Hundred Switzers, the 
great hall from which could be seen both the court 
and the garden, and which rose to the roof of the 
Central Pavilion ; it was afterwards the Hall of the 
Marshals. The King's apartment included, besides 
this hall, the following rooms: the Hall of the 
Guards, afterwards the Salon of the First Consul; 
the royal ante-chamber, also called the (Eil-de-Boeuf 
and later the Hall of Apollo; the bedchamber (a 
state chamber afterwards called the Throne Room) ; 
the great royal cabinet (where the Council of the 
Ministry sat, and known afterwards as the Salon of 
Louis XIV.) ; and finally the Gallery of Diana, called 
also the Ambassadors' Gallery. 

At six in the evening the members of the National 
Assembly met in the Tuileries ' in the royal ante- 
chamber (the Hall of Apollo). No distinctions of 
rank were observed, and, for the first time, the depu- 
ties attended a royal audience without being in court 
dress. Was not this a sign of the times ? The ushers 
opened the two doors by which entrance is made into 
the bedchamber (the future Throne Room). The 
masters of ceremonies, walking on either hand of 
the President, introduced the Assembly. The King 
received them, seated in an armchair. He removed 
his hat only during their entrance and while receiv- 
ing the salutations of the President, M. Fr^teau, a 
member of Parliament who, in spite of his advanced 
opinions, was to perish on the scaffold like the King 



A VISIT FROM THE NATIONAL ASSEMBLY. 13 

himself. M. Fr^teau made a speech in which the 
following remarks occur: "The affection of the 
French people for their monarch seemed incapable 
of increase after that memorable day when their 
voice proclaimed you the restorer of liberty. There 
remained, Sire, a still more touching title to be given 
you, — that of the nation's best friend. Henri IV. 
received it from the inhabitants of a city in which he 
spent his youth. Historical monuments apprise us 
that in the letters he wrote them he signed himself 
*Your best friend.' This title, Sire, is due to you 
from the whole of France. We have seen Your 
Majesty, calm in the midst of tumults, taking on 
yourself all risks and seeking to withdraw your 
excited people from them by your presence and 
your solicitous care; we have seen you renouncing 
your pleasures, your recreations, and your tastes, in 
order to come among a turbulent multitude and 
announce the return of peace, to strengthen the 
bonds of concord, and rally the exhausted forces of 
this vast empire. How sweet it is to us, Sire, to 
gather into one the benedictions with which an 
immense people surround you, and offer them in 
honorable tribute. We add to them the assurance 
of a zeal continually more active in the mainte- 
nance of law and the defence of your protecting 
authority." 

The King was not prepared for this visit from the 
National Assembly. 

" Gentlemen," he replied with emotion, " I am 



14 MAEIE ANTOINETTE. 

content with the attachment you express for me. 
I counted on it. I receive the testimony of it with 
profound feeling." 

The Assembly then expressed a desire to present 
their respects to the Queen. The King permitted 
all the deputies to pass through his cabinet (the 
Salon of Louis XIV.) in order to arrive at Marie 
Antoinette's apartments by the Gallery of Diana. 
The ushers opened the two leaves of the folding- 
door which leads from the bedchamber to the Royal 
Cabinet, and the deputies passed through, bowing 
very low to Louis XVI., who had placed himself 
near this door. 

At the end of the Gallery of Diana, on the right- 
hand side, ended a staircase which led from the 
ground-floor to the first story and the rooms for- 
merly occupied by the wife of Louis XIV., and 
called the Queen's Apartments. They are five in all, 
looking down upon the garden, and with the Gallery 
of Diana just behind them. Here Marie Antoinette 
received the visit of the Assembly. The Queen, 
who had not been forewarned of their arrival, was 
at the moment at her toilet, getting ready to play in 
public. A desire not to keep the deputies waiting 
decided her to give them an immediate audience 
without putting on more ceremonious attire. She 
seated herself in an armchair in the principal room, 
and the Assembly were presented by the masters of 
ceremonies as had been the case with the King. 
One of them, M. de Nantouillet, who published an 



A VISIT FROM THE NATIONAL ASSEMBLY. 15 

account of this visit, remarks that the Queen, accus- 
tomed to receive the constituted bodies in the same 
manner as the King, need not have risen at the 
entrance of the Assembly, and that in doing so, and 
in saying a word concerning the fact that she was 
not in full dress, she wished to give them a special 
mark of her esteem. 

" Madame," said the President, " the first desire of 
the National Assembly on arriving in the capital was 
to present the King with the tribute of their respect 
and love. They could not resist the natural oppor- 
tunity to offer you also their good wishes. Receive 
them, Madame, such as we form them, lively, ardent, 
and sincere. It would be a real satisfaction if the 
National Assembly might behold in your arms that 
illustrious child, the offspring of so many kings ten- 
derly cherished by their people, — the descendant of 
Louis IX., of Henri IV., of him whose virtues are 
the hope of France. Neither he nor the authors of 
his life will ever enjoy so much prosperity as we 
desire for them." 

The Queen replied : " I am touched, as I ought to 
be, with the sentiments expressed toward me by the 
National Assembly. If I had been notified of their 
intention, they would have been received in a more 
befitting manner." Then Marie Antoinette com- 
manded the Master of Ceremonies to go and find the 
Dauphin. As soon as the child was brought, she took 
him in her arms, and showed him to all the deputies. 
Cries of "Long live the King!" "Long live the 



16 MABIE ANTOINETTE. 

Queen ! " " Long live Monseigneur the Dauphin ! " 
resounded with enthusiasm. For a moment Marie 
Antoinette was distracted from the thought of her 
afflictions. 

A few days later she changed her quarters, and, 
leaving the first story, installed herself on the ground- 
floor, where she had her dressing-room, her bedcham- 
ber, and her salon. As to Louis XVL, he continued 
to live in the apartment which, since the reign of 
Louis Xiy., had been called the "apartment of the 
King." It communicated with the Great Cabinet (the 
Salon of Louis XIV.), and comprised three rooms, 
looking on the garden, — a small cabinet intended for 
the first valet de chambre, the sovereign's bedcham- 
ber, and a library. Louis XVI. had his son and 
daughter placed near him in the apartment known as 
" the apartment of the Queen," which Marie Antoi- 
nette had just vacated for another on the ground- 
floor. In addition to his rooms in the first story, he 
occupied three on the ground-floor, which were sit- 
uated in the angle of the intermediate pavilion, be- 
tween those of Flora and the Centre, one of which 
communicated with the Queen's dressing-room. 
Every morning, having spent the first moments 
after rising in devotional exercises, he descended to 
his little apartment on the ground-floor by a narrow 
private staircase. He looked first at his thermome- 
ter, and then received the greetings of his wife and 
children. It was there also that he breakfasted, 
served by one domestic only, the Queen taking ad- 



A VISIT FROM THE NATIONAL ASSEMBLY. 17 

vantage of this moment to come and chat with her 
husband. From there, too, he could examine what 
was going on in the garden without being seen, and 
listen to the remarks made just under his windows. 

In spite of everything, the unfortunate monarch 
still preserved the greatest illusions. Such manifes- 
tations as that just made by the National Assembly 
deceived him concerning the extreme gravity of the 
situation. He believed that he was still loved and 
respected. Even the October days had not cured 
him of his fallacious optimism. Doubtless, the mon- 
archy had not entirely lost its prestige, and the Na- 
tional Assembly were sincere when they expressed 
sentiments of fidelity toward their King. But the 
Revolution made incessant progress. As was re- 
marked by Madame de Bdarn, the daughter of the 
governess of the royal children, it was like one of 
those great currents which carry away even vessels 
which seek to cast anchor. 



III. 

PAEIS AT THE CLOSE OF 1789. 

WHAT a varied spectacle ! What a tragi-com- 
edy ! What diverse figures ! What contra- 
dictory emotions ! What an amalgam of ideas and 
passions, of vices and virtues ! Here, marquises and 
dukes; there, people of the faubourgs and insur- 
gents. Red heels here ; red bonnets there. Here, 
the language of courts ; there, the insults of the mar- 
ket-place. In the Tuileries, elegance still, and polite- 
ness, and the chivalrous manners of the old regime ; 
and a stone's throw distant, in the pestilent streets 
neighboring the Carrousel, the threats and hatred of 
a populace in rags; a little beyond, in the galleries 
of the Palais Royal, speech-making agitators, and 
the prostitutes who played such leading parts in the 
October days ; beside the garden of the Tuileries, the 
riding-school where the National Assembly has its 
noisy sessions, its bitter discussions, and the stormy 
eloquence of its Mirabeau, the thunderer; on every 
street, in every square, colporteurs shouting forth their 
lies, newsmongers, Paul Prys, gossips who delight 
in calumny and the unhealthy emotions of sedition, 
18 



PABIS AT THE CLOSE OF 1789. 19 

who play at being soldiers in the National Guards, 
at politics in the caf^s, at demagogy in the clubs, 
mischief-makers who amuse themselves by rekind- 
ling everywhere badly extinguished firebrands; in 
the outskirts of Paris the principal soldiers of the 
insurrection, the future Septembrists, the future 
furies of the guillotine. What blows ! What shocks ! 
This old regime which is dead — this new regime 
which is still unborn ! What a chaos ! What seeth- 
ing in this alembic, this furnace ! What throes, what 
anguish, what rending, is not France to endure, that 
she may bring forth, in suffering, modern society, 
her daughter ! What electricity in the air ! What 
ensanguined or sombre clouds on the horizon ! What 
a vast hubbub of confused and noisy sounds, — beat- 
ing of drums, applause and yells of disapproval in 
the Assembly and the clubs, the ringing of bells, the 
stroke of the tocsin ! Paris is disturbed, tumultuous, 
full of inflammable materials. One would say the 
ground is mined. At every step one dreads a sudden 
explosion. The soil is volcanic. One sees every- 
thing as if through the glare of a conflagration. 

The Revolution is everywhere. Even in the salons 
of the Faubourg Saint-Germain there is a left and 
a right who dispute as bitterly as they do in the 
National Assembly. Farewell that Attic wit, that 
sweetness, that urbanity, which for so long have made 
Parisian salons veritable schools of good taste and 
grace ! Unpleasant politics have become the only 
topic of conversation. Everybody talks loud and 



20 MABIE ANTOINETTE. 



the I 



listens yery little. Ill humor pierces through the 
tone as through the glance. The women lose most 
by this change in the manners of good society. It is 
only the gentle passions which befit their features, 
their voices, the delicacy of their entire being, and 
behold them railing like demoniacs ! Politics dis- 
figures them, and anger makes them ugly. 

At the theatre things are still worse than in the 
salons. The play-houses are transformed into tilt- 
yards where the combatants give themselves over to 
perpetual contests. Whenever a favorable allusion 
permits the royalists to display their sentiments 
toward the King and Queen, they consider it a great 
triumph to drown the actor's voice by noisy applause. 
Then they hasten to the palace to say that public 
opinion is coming round to good sense, and the revo- 
lutionists are crushed. But the Jacobins come in 
force to the next play. They insult the aristocrats. 
They cheer enthusiastically every line which breathes 
of liberty ; they hiss furiously all those which might 
recall the love of the people for their kings. 

At the Theatre Frangais, when Charles Ninth is 
played, look at the public, a more curious spectacle 
than the stage. At the end of the fourth act, when 
the dismal bell announces the moment of the massa- 
cre, do you see him who listens to it with a dull 
groan? Do you hear him who cries, "Silence ! 
silence ! " as if he feared lest the strokes of this 
death bell should not resound loud enough within 
his heart, where they feed the sensations of ven- 
geance and of hatred? 



PARIS AT THE CLOSE OF 1789. 21 

And, in the midst of all this, sentimental phrases, 
pictures in the style of Greuze, a humanitarian, phil- 
osophic jargon borrowed from Jean-Jacques Rousseau, 
a sort of patriotic festival, an orgy of false fraternity. 
French gaiety, too, which does not lose its rights, 
irony which blends with enthusiasm, gross puns suc- 
ceeding to the accents of eloquence, juggler's clowns 
who chatter while Mirabeau is speaking, laughter 
and tears, the grotesque and the sublime. At the 
side of noble enthusiasms and generous ideas, mean 
and wretched passions, envious women, many of 
whom rejoice to see the Queen unhappy ; the level- 
ling sentiment which finds pleasure in the decay and 
humiliation of the court and the aristocracy; the 
great capital in a shudder ; the theatres always full ; 
the churches still thronged with the faithful, who 
seek by their prayers to turn away the wrath of God; 
optimists who, in the triumphant age of iron, persist 
in predicting the age of gold ; pessimists whose most 
sinister previsions are outdone by events; in fine, 
beyond all this vehement crowd whose cries and 
murmurs are like the tumult of the waves, a few 
sages, troubled but silent, who ask themselves how 
all this will end, and, as from a mountain top, look 
down at the vessels tossing upon the billows. 

What is most striking in the scene presented by 
Paris at the close of 1789, is its extreme variety. 
Count de S^gur, coming back from his embassy to 
Saint Petersburg, shows us the different aspects 
presented by the capital in a single day. 



22 MARIE ANTOINETTE, 

In the morning he goes to see Baron de Besenval, 
who is shut up in the prison of the Ch^telet for having 
resisted the riot when commanding the troops of the 
Parisian garrison at the beginning of the Revolution. 
An immense crowd assembled on the quay obstructs 
the thoroughfare in spite of the efforts of the National 
Guard, and fills the air with vociferations. Some mad- 
men, accusing the judges of delay and the authorities 
of treason, are shouting loudly for the prisoner's head. 
It takes M. de Segur a long time to arrive, and gives 
him great trouble to make his way through this furious 
multitude. Reaching the prison at last, he enters by a 
wicket under a low door. He passes with repugnance 
through the gloomy windings of this den of vice and 
crime ; after he has mounted the tower stairs, he enters 
a tolerably clean chamber, where he sees Baron de 
Besenval, not merely calm and courageous, but with 
his accustomed gaiety, talking with several friends 
and some women, as amiable as they are charming, 
who have come to make his captivity more agreeable. 

An hour later, M. de Segur is on the Place de 
Gr^ve. There he sees many assemblages which the 
National Guard is painfully trying to disperse. From 
there he goes to the market, where he has before him 
a great public mart in full activity, as in the midst of 
the profoundest peace. Then he goes to the Palais 
Royal. He enters that famous garden, the centre of 
industry, the focus of corruption, an arena always 
open to the seditious, who make it the rendezvous 
of their machinations. A curious crowd are sur- 



PABIS AT THE CLOSE OF 1789. 23 

rounding a man who, mounted on a table, is declaim- 
ing vehemently against the perfidy of the court, the 
pride of the nobles, the cupidity of the rich, the 
inertia of the legislators, and who concludes, ap- 
plauded by some and criticised by others, by propos- 
ing incendiary motions. 

Disgusted by this scene. Count de Segur goes away 
and enters the garden of the Tuileries. The weather 
is splendid. The terrace and the alleys are filled with 
peaceful promenaders. The prettiest women of Paris 
are displaying their dresses and their charms. Satis- 
faction beams on every face. One would think it 
was a holiday. 

M. de Sdgur leaves the Tuileries and goes through 
the Champs Elys^es, where all is confusion. He sees 
a multitude of armed men. They are old soldiers of 
the French Guard, who, to execute a projected revolt, 
are going to the great square, the appointed place 
for their reunion; but Lafayette, warned of their 
gathering, hastens with several battalions of the 
National Guard, and disarms them. 

In the evening, to banish the souvenirs of the day, 
M. de Se-i^ur goes to the Opera. This time he is 
tempted to imagine, that, up to now, he has been 
dreaming. Who would not believe himself to be 
living in the happiest and most peaceful of epochs ? 
Behold this affluence of spectators, this charming 
ballet, these magnificent decorations; recognize in 
the boxes the most distinguished people of the court 
and of the city. Look at these fashionable women, 



I' 



24 MAHIE ANTOINETTE. 

wlio glance from behind the fans they manage s 
well. Listen to this enchanting music, which ban- 
ishes anxiety and care. What an opening in the 
cloudy sky! Over the volcano, around the crater, 
whence flames and lava are about to pour, there are 
still greensward, fields, and flowers. 

In the tableau of Paris, at the close of 1789, the 
court does not occupy a brilliant place. One might 
say that royalty, doubtful of itself, is effacing itself 
voluntarily, and dwindling away. Every day it loses 
a little more of its prestige. The rays of the royal 
sun, once so dazzling, are growing pale. " One would 
not suspect that there is a court at Paris. All is 
absolutely quiet. There is no question of hunts or 
balls, of comedies or of concerts. Economy looks 
like hoarding, and certainly Voltaire would not say 
to-day (December 10, 1789), ''How 'proud Paris is of 
the court of Louis J " ^ 

However, there are still cards on Sundays, dinners 
in public on Tuesdays and Thursdays, and all the 
nobility of Paris repair assiduously to the chateau. 
There are even many persons who would not have 
dared to pretend to present themselves at court the 
year before, but who now, under pretext of zeal for 
the royal cause, are seeking to become intimate at 
the Tuileries. But events have stamped the palace 
with a character of profound sadness. Its faded 

1 Secret Correspondence concerning Louis XVI. and Marie 
Antoinette. MS. of the Imperial Library of Saint Petersburg, pub- 
lislied by M. de Lescure. 2 vols. Plon. 



PARIS AT THE CLOSE OF 1789. 25 

tapestries, its arches damaged by the weather, its 
dilapidated aspect, give it, on the whole, the air of 
an assemblage of things, once brilliant, but now 
mouldy, which recall both the grandeur and the 
decadence of the monarchy. The royal family is 
free to walk in the garden only at certain hours. 
Then the public is excluded. Some of the soldiers 
say vulgarly that the King is " let out." And yet, 
shaken as it is, royalty, with an abler monarch, 
would still have great resources. Betrayed by itself, 
rather than by the feebleness and incapacity of its 
defenders, it still sustains itself, and Louis XYI. 
needs three years more to consummate a downfall 
wrought chiefly by himself. 



IV. 

THE EXECUTION OF THE MARQUIS DE FAVEAS. 

THE hour was approaching when Louis XVI. 
would see every prerogative of royalty torn 
from him, even the right to pardon. Already, in the 
early months of 1790, he dared not save from death 
a royalist whose crime had been an excess of mon- 
archical zeal. The gibbet of the Marquis de Favras 
was the prelude to the King's scaffold. 

M. de Favras was born in 1745. He served in the 
army with distinction, and his wife was a daughter 
of the Prince of Anhalt-Schauenburg. Ever since 
the Revolution began he had been considering one 
project after another for rescuing the monarchy 
from the dangers surrounding it. His naturally vivid 
imagination became overheated, and he looked on 
himself with great simplicity as the future saviour of 
the throne. His plan was to carry off the King, and 
take him to Peronne, and to arrest Lafayette and 
Necker. It was claimed that he also wished to 
assemble twelve thousand cavalry in Paris, and sup- 
port them by an army of twenty thousand Swiss, 
twenty thousand Sardinians, and twelve thousand 
26 



EXECUTION OF MARQUIS DE FAVBA8. 27 

Germans; but this was not proved. M. de Favras 
communicated his ideas to a number of the persons 
surrounding Monsieur, the King's brother, but no one 
attached serious importance to them. He was then 
imprudent enough to try to sound certain officers of 
the National Guard, who, instead of receiving him 
favorably, informed against him. He was at once 
arrested, and sent to the Ch^telet to be tried. As 
the name of Monsieur had been implicated in the 
denunciation, the Prince went at once to the Paris 
Commune in order to counteract, without a moment's 
delay, the suspicious rumors which might get into 
circulation. " From the day," said he, " when in the 
Second Assembly of Notables I declared myself con- 
cerning the fundamental questions which divide 
men's minds, I have not ceased to believe that a 
great revolution is impending; that the King, by 
virtue of his intentions, his virtues, and his supreme 
rank, ought to be at the head of it, since it cannot 
be advantageous to the nation without being equally 
so to the monarch; and, finally, that royal author- 
ity should be the rampart of national liberty, and 
national liberty the basis of royal authority." This 
discourse was received with general applause, and 
the Prince was accompanied by the crowd back to 
the Luxembourg palace, where he resided. 

As for the unfortunate Favras, everybody was bit- 
ter against him. During the whole of the trial the 
people kept up an incessant threatening of the judges 
and the cry, " To the lamp-post with him ! " It was 



28 MAEIE ANTOINETTE. 

even necessary to have pieces of artillery and nu- 
merous troops constantly drawn up in the courtyard 
of the Chatelet. The crowd had been exasperated by 
the acquittal of Baron de Besenval and others impli- 
cated in the affairs of July 14. It is claimed that La- 
fayette said; "If M. de Favras is not condemned, I 
will not answer for the National Guard." The prin- 
cipal charge against the accused was a letter from M. 
de Foucault, who asked him : " Where are your 
troops ? From what direction will they enter Paris ? 
I would like to serve among them." This was suffi- 
ciently vague, and no trace was discovered either of 
the cavaliers who were to make the supposed attack, 
or of the Swiss, German, and Piedmontese armies 
expected to aid them. Nevertheless, M. de Favras 
was condemned to death. He listened to his sentence 
with the greatest calmness. " I pity you exceed- 
ingly," said he to the judges, " if the simple testimony 
of two men is enough to make you condemn an inno- 
cent person." He was hanged in the Place de Gr^ve 
on February 19, 1790. As soon as the people saw 
him in the cart with the rope around his neck, and 
the hangman behind him, they broke into wild exul- 
tation and cries of enthusiastic joy. It was night, 
and lamps were lighted all over the Place de Gr^ve. 
They even put one on the gibbet. " Citizens," cried 
the condemned, "I die innocent: pray God for me." 
Then, turning to the hangman, he said, " Come, my 
friend, do your duty." The crowd responded with 
ironical clapping of the hands, ferocious laughter. 






EXECUTION OF MARQUIS DE FAVRAS. 29 



and repeated cries of " Skip, Marquis ! " As soon as 
he was hanged, a number of voices cried, ^^ Encore I " 
as if to demand more executions. The people wanted 
to get at the dead body, tear it in pieces, and carry 
the bleeding head on the end of a pike. The 
National Guard succeeded in preventing this scene, 
worthy of cannibals, but only with great difficulty 
and at the point of the bayonet. 

Madame Elisabeth wrote next day to the Marquise 
de Bombelles : " My head and heart are so full of 
yesterday that it is hardly possible for me to think of 
anything else. I hope that his blood may not fall 
back upon his judges. But nobody (except the peo- 
ple and that class of beings whom one cannot call 
men because it would lower humanity) understands 
for what he was condemned. He was so imprudent 
as to wish to serve his king. Behold his crime. I 
hope that this unjust execution may have the effect 
of persecutions, and that from his ashes men who 
still love their country may spring up again to 
avenge her on the traitors by whom she is deceived. 
I hope, also, that Heaven, for the sake of the courage 
he showed during the four hours at the H6tel de 
Ville before his execution, may have pardoned his 
sins. Pray for him, my heart ; you cannot perform 
a better work." 

The execution of M. de Favras had become a fixed 
idea with Madame Elisabeth. On February 23 she 
wrote again to Madame de Bombelles: "Heavens, 
Bombe, how angry your letter made me ! I own 



30 MARIE ANTOINETTE. 

that I was extremely wrong. But no matter, I must 
tell you why. I was penetrated by the injustice of 
M. de Favras's death, by the superb way in which he 
ended his life, and the love he showed for his king 
(which was the sole cause of his death). For two 
days I had been thinking of nothing else ; my heart, 
my soul, my entire being was filled with nothing 
but this idea, and then I receive a letter in which 
you say to me, ' But what was the wretched man 
thinking about?' You may judge whether your 
princess, who does not always give herself time for 
reflection, fell into a rage against poor Bombe, who, 
nevertheless, had done nothing, and who, if she had 
been here, would have wondered, like all who breathe 
in Paris, both at the injustice of his death and the 
courage with which he submitted to his sentence. 
No; it is only God who can have given it to him. 
So I greatly hope he has received the recompense 
for it. The hearts of honest men willingly render 
him the homage he deserves. Even the people, the 
people who cried loudly for his death, said the next 
day, and, indeed, on returning from the execu- 
tion, ' But he protested his innocence on the gal- 
lows : it was very wrong then not to have taken 
him down.' " 

The execution of M. de Favras afflicted Marie An- 
toinette not less than Madame Elisabeth : her chagrin 
was even more keen because she was obliged to con- 
ceal it. On the Sunday following M. de la Villeurnoy 
went in the morning to Madame Campan to say that 



EXECUTION OF MABQUI8 BE FAVBA8. 31 

he intended to bring the widow and the son of the 
Marquis de Favras to the public dinner of the King 
and Queen. Madame Campan tried in vain to pre- 
vent this step. Madame de Favras and her son made 
their appearance in deep mourning when dinner was 
half over. But the Queen, behind whom was the 
demagogue Santerre, commander of a battalion of 
the National Guard, dared not say a single word to 
the widow and the orphan. When the repast was 
finished, she went to Madame Campan's room, and 
throwing herself into an armchair, cried, " I am 
come to weep with you." Then she added : " We 
must needs perish when we are attacked by men who 
unite every talent to every crime, and defended by 
men who are very estimable, but have no adequate 
idea of our position. They have compromised me 
with both parties by presenting the wife and son of 
Favras. If I were free to, I ought to have taken the 
son of a man who had just sacrificed himself for us, 
and placed him at table between the King and me ; 
but, surrounded by the executioners who had just 
put his father to death, I did not even dare to look 
at him. The royalists will blame me for seeming not 
to have noticed the poor child, and the revolutionists 
will be enraged at the thought that in presenting him 
they expected to please me." 

However, the Queen added that she understood 
Madame de Favras's position, that she knew her to 
be in need, and ordered Madame Campan to send 
her next day several rolls of fifty louis each, assuring 



32 MABIE ANTOINETTE, 

her at the same time that the King and Queen would 
always provide for her and her son. 

Poor Queen ! What torture for a woman of her 
character ! To be obliged to incessant dissimulation, 
to control her countenance, to hide her tears, to stifle 
her sighs, afraid to make known her sympathy and 
gratitude to her friends and advocates ! Surrounded 
even in her palace by inquisitors, she dared neither 
to act nor speak. She hardly dared to think. "What 
torture for a haughty and candid soul, for a woman 
who, notwithstanding, carried her head so high, for 
the daughter of the German Csesars, for the Queen 
of France and Navarre ! 



V. 



THE DAUPHIF AND MADAME EOYALE. 

A WOMAN of the people, feeble, worn out with 
fatigue and poverty, sometimes reaches such 
an extreme of suffering and discouragement that she 
no longer feels the strength necessary to struggle 
against pain and hunger. But at the moment when 
she despairs, the poor woman casts a glance at her 
little children. Then her exhausted forces revive as 
by a miracle ; the down-hearted creature rises up 
again. She will go on living ; she will continue her 
fierce struggle against fate. Maternal tenderness 
converts her into a heroine. 

Marie Antoinette suffered from neither poverty 
nor hunger. But her anguish was not on that ac- 
count less keen. There are cruel anxieties beneath 
the gilded roofs of palaces as under the thatch of 
cabins, and when the Queen of France and Navarre 
felt her strength failing in her struggle up-stream, 
she had as much need to think of her children as 
the humble woman of the people. She was made 
intrepid by her passionate desire to save them. She 
suffered for them more than for herself. Anxiety 

33 



34 MARIE ANTOINETTE. 

about their future plunged her, as it were, into an 
abyss. Would the diadem that had been placed on 
the Dauphin's forehead prove a royal crown or a 
crown of thorns? Would the child to whom such 
a brilliant destiny had been promised be a king or 
a martyr? The maternal devotion of Marie Antoi- 
nette was both her joy and her affliction. The more 
unhappy she became, the more attached she was to 
the two children, at once her torment and her hope. 

The once frivolous woman had become serious and 
grave. Far removed from her were all considera- 
tions of dress and elegance. No more distractions, 
no more theatres, no more balls, no more concerts, 
no more worldly conversations. Meditations only, 
prayers, long hours of needlework pursued with 
feverish activity, alms, good works, charitable excur- 
sions throughout Paris. The Queen of France had 
become the model of a Christian mother, the gover- 
ness and teacher of her daughter. Her face, like her 
existence, had assumed something like austerity. The 
majesty which dominated her whole person was the 
supreme majesty of sorrow. Melancholy covered her 
as with a veil. Her days were passed in work, her 
nights were sleepless and unquiet. Her eyes, so often 
reddened by tears, were both tender and touching. 
She wrote to the Duchess de Polignac : " You speak 
of my courage. Less is needed to endure the fright- 
ful moments which present themselves than to bear up 
daily under our position with its peculiar pains, those 
of its friends, and of all those who surround us. It 



THE DAUPHIN AND MADAME BOTALE. 35 

is a load too heavy to be borne, and if my heart were 
not so strongly bound to my husband, my children, 
and my friends, I should desire to break down under 
it. You all support me ; I still owe this sentiment 
to your friendship. For me, I bring misfortune to 
every one, and your pains are for me and by me." 

The queen might have weakened, but the mother 
had not a moment of exhaustion. The sight of her 
children gave her a courage equal to every trial. In 
1790 her daughter, Madame Royale, was eleven 
years old. The birth of this child had nearly cost 
the mother's life. Madame Campan has described 
the overflowing joy, the transports of delight, which 
greeted the news that all danger was past. Madame 
Campan deplores that a celestial voice, revealing the 
secret decree of destiny, had not then cried to the 
Queen's faithful servants : " Do not bless that art of 
human beings which brings her back to life ; weep, 
rather, over her return to a world that is fatal and 
cruel to the object of her affections. Ah! let her 
quit it, honored, cherished. You will shed bitter 
tears above her tomb ; you can cover it with flowers. 
. . . There will come a day when all the furies of 
the earth, after having pierced her heart with a 
thousand empoisoned shafts, after having graven the 
signs of premature decrepitude on her noble and 
touching features, will deliver her to tortures such 
as do not exist for criminals; will deprive her 
dead body of burial, and precipitate you all into the 
same gulf with her if you permit the least movement 



36 MARIE ANTOINETTE. 

of compassion at the sight of so many cruelties to 
escape you." 

Already disasters were hovering over the Queen's 
head. When Madame Royale came into the world, it 
was not a daughter but a son that the court desired. 
Marie Antoinette had only pressed the child more 
tenderly to her heart on that account. " Poor little 
one," she said to her, '' you were not wanted, but for 
all that you will not be less dear to me. A son 
would have belonged more especially to the State. 
You will be my own, you will receive all my cares, 
you will share my happiness and sweeten my pains." 
Alas ! there was no more happiness to share, but how 
many pains there were to sweeten! 

Madame Royale displayed the best disposition, 
and from her infancy manifested those sentiments of 
piety which were the honor and consolation of her 
whole life. She made her first communion at the 
church of Saint Germain-l'Auxerrois on April 8, 
1790. In the morning, Marie Antoinette led the 
young Princess into the King's chamber and said to 
her, " My daughter, throw yourself at your father's 
feet and ask his blessing." The child prostrated 
herself, and her father, raising her, addressed her in 
these words : " From the bottom of my heart I bless 
you, my daughter, asking Heaven to give you grace 
to appreciate well the great action you are going to 
perform. Your heart is innocent in the sight of God; 
your prayers should be pleasing to Him : offer them 
for your mother and me ; ask Him to grant me the 



THE DAUPHIN AND MADAME ROY ALE. 37 

grace necessary to secure the welfare of those whom 
He has placed under my dominion and whom I ought 
to consider as my children ; ask Him to preserve the 
purity of religion throughout the kingdom; and 
remember well, my daughter, that this holy religion 
is the source of happiness, and our pathway through 
the adversities of life. Do not believe that you will 
be sheltered from them ; you are very young, but you 
have already seen your father afflicted more than 
once. You know not, my daughter, what Providence 
has decreed for you, whether you will remain in this 
realm or go away to live in another. In whatever 
spot the hand of God may place you, remember that 
you ought to edify by your example and to do good 
whenever you find an opportunity. But above all, 
my child, succor the unfortunate with all your might. 
God gave us our birth in the rank we occupy only 
that we might labor for their welfare and console 
them in their afflictions. Go to the altar where you 
are awaited, and implore the God of mercy never to 
let you forget the counsels of a tender father." The 
young Princess, profoundly moved, answered by her 
tears. 

It was customary for the daughters of France to 
receive a set of diamonds on the day of their first 
communion. Louis XVI. told Madame Royale that 
he had done away with this too expensive usage. 
" My daughter," he said, " I know your good sense 
too well to permit me to suppose that at a moment 
when you should be entirely occupied in preparing 



38 MARIE ANTOINETTE. 

your heart to be a sanctuary worthy of the Divinity, 
you can attach much value to artificial ornaments. 
Moreover, my child, public wretchedness is extreme, 
the poor abound everywhere, and assuredly you would 
rather go without jewels than know that they are 
going without bread." 

The young Princess then went to her parish 
church, Saint Germain-l'Auxerrois. She approached 
the holy table with marks of the sincerest devotion. 
Marie Antoinette, in disguise, was present at the 
ceremony, which was of extreme simplicity and 
which produced in the royal family very sweet 
emotions. Louis XVI. gave abundant alms on this 
occasion. The day before, the Dauphin had said 
to his governess, Madame de Tourzel, "I am very 
sorry not to have my Versailles garden any more. 
I would have made two beautiful bouquets for to- 
morrow, one for my mother, and the other for my 
sister." 

The Dauphin had just passed his fifth birthday 
(he was born March 27, 1785). The grace, the 
charming ways of the royal child fascinated even 
the demagogues. The Revolution grew milder when 
it saw him smile. The crowd never beheld him 
without emotion. He was so pretty, so cheerful, so 
amiable. He had been given, within the precinct of 
the Tuileries, at the end of the terrace beside the 
water, a little garden extending to the pavilion in- 
habited by his preceptor, the Abbd d'Avaux. There 
he found again what he had left behind him at Ver- 



THE DAUPHIN AND MADAME BOY ALE. 39 

sailles, — air, amusement, flowers. When he went 
to his new garden he was usually accompanied by 
a detachment of the National Guard on duty at the 
Palace of the Tuileries. He very often wore the 
uniform of a National Guard. He learned the man- 
ual exercise with a miniature gun, and nothing in- 
terested the crowd so much as to see him do the 
exercise. When the spectators were not too numer- 
ous, he invited them to enter his garden. 

One day when the throng was greater than usual, 
and many persons seemed displeased not to be able 
to come in, " Excuse me," said he, " I am very sorry 
that my garden is so small, because that deprives me 
of the pleasure of receiving all of you." Then he 
offered flowers to those who approached the paling, 
and looked pleasantly at them. A priest of the 
parish of Saint Eustache, the Abb^ Antheaume, con- 
ceived the idea of forming a regiment of children for 
the little Prince: it was called the Royal Dauphin. 
The uniform was a diminutive of that of the French 
Guards, with white gaiters and a three-cornered hat. 
This regiment of little boys asked to be treated in a 
military manner, like the National Guard. 

"There are no more children," said Lafayette. 
"Very well, so be it! We have seen so many old 
men possessing the vices of young ones that it is 
good to see children display the virtues of men." 
The infantine regiment served three posts of honor, 
— the chateau of the Tuileries, the hotel of the 
Mayor of Paris in the rue des Capucines, and that of 



40 MABIE ANTOINETTE, 

the commandant of the National Guard in the rue de 
Bourbon. When they marched past the royal family, 
Louis XVI. saluted the flag affectionately, and the 
Dauphin made gestures of sympathy to his little 
companions-in-arms. 

Like the mother of the Gracchi, Marie Antoinette 
could say thereafter that her children were her jewels. 
The mother was still more august than the queen. 
Holding her son by one hand and her daughter by the 
other, she had an aspect at once imposing and sweet 
which ought to have disarmed the most ferocious 
hatred. But the Revolution was without pity and 
without bowels of compassion. Neither motherhood 
nor infancy could succeed in touching it. 



VL 



THE KOYAL FAMILY AT SAINT CLOUD. 

ONE experiences a singular sensation when, on 
leaving a city torn by civil war or revolution, 
he suddenly finds himself amidst the solitude and 
tranquillity of the country. In the presence of 
nature, so unmoved by our passions, man seems so 
little, God so great. It is a reconciliation, a truce, 
an oblivion. One almost persuades himself that he 
has nothing more in common with the city where he 
has suffered so much. A calm and gentle re very 
succeeds to cruel anxieties; one feels strengthened, 
consoled, rejuvenated. 

This impression which Danton was afterwards to 
experience in the fields near Arcis-sur-Aube, Marie 
Antoinette enjoyed under the beautiful umbrage of 
Saint Cloud in the spring of 1790. The royal family, 
which was not yet absolutely captive, remained there 
from May .24 to the end of October. It was a great 
relief to hear revolutionary clamor no longer; to be 
out of the way of the vociferous hawkers who, at the 
Tuileries, were not contented to remain at the garden 
gates, but crossed it in every direction, announcing 

41 



42 MAEIE ANTOINETTE. 

their threatening news. The Count and Countess 
of Provence did not live in the chateau of Saint 
Cloud, but they rented a house near the bridge and 
came every day to sup with the King and spend the 
evening. 

Entire harmony reigned between all the members 
of the royal family. The rigid etiquette of former 
days was modified. The rule which permitted the 
admission of none but princes of the blood to the 
sovereign's table was relaxed. At dinner and supper 
the King and Queen invited persons to sit down with 
them nearly every day. After dinner they drove 
about the environs in open carriages. After supper 
the King played billiards with his family and his 
invited guests. He said one day to Mademoiselle 
Pauline de Tourzel, the daughter of his children's 
governess : — 

" Pauline, can you play billiards ? " 

" No, Sire." 

" Oh, well," went on Louis XYI., " you must know 
how to play billiards. I will take charge of your 
education and give you some lessons." 

The good-natured King kept his word. 

The stay at Saint Cloud was a lull in the storm. 
We who know the denouement of the drama in 
advance see nothing in its changing scenes but gloom 
and blood. The thought of the final catastrophe 
weighs upon us. The scaffold is always before our 
eyes. It haunts us incessantly. Happily, the reality 
was not always quite so frightful. A memory of 



THE BOYAL FAMILY AT SAINT CLOUD. 43 

Charles I. rose up, it is true, in the obscurity ; but, to 
reassure themselves, people were wont to say that in 
history similar situations rarely have identical con- 
clusions. There were hours of calm, of hope, and 
even of gaiety. The Countess de Bdarn (Pauline 
de Tourzel), in her Souvenirs of Forty Years^ has 
sketched the picture of this family life with its com- 
parative tranquillity and its innocent distractions. 
The Countess of Provence animated the conver- 
sations by her slightly malicious wit. She was 
especially amusing on Sundays. On that day the 
public were permitted to enter and walk around the 
royal table. It was then the humor of the Princess 
to guess at the character, disposition, and profession 
of those who were passing before her. The sort of 
prophetical examination which she made of their 
faces sometimes led to very amusing results. 

Madame Elisabeth enjoyed the stay at Saint Cloud. 
"I have a window which opens on a tiny private 
garden," she wrote to the Marquise de Bombelles; 
" it gives me great pleasure. It is not so charming as 
Montreuil, but at least I am free and can enjoy good 
fresh air, which helps one to forget somewhat what is 
going on — and you will agree that there is frequent 
need of doing so." The little Dauphin had a fine 
time at Saint Cloud. He was continually in the 
garden, and went to walk every evening in the 
park of Meudon. 

Louis XVI., always inclined to optimism, like all 
honest and kindly natures, felt his hopes revive, and 



44 MARIE ANTOINETTE, 

naively imagined that by dint of reading and medi- 
tating on the history of Charles I., he could find 
means to preserve himself from the fate of that un- 
happy monarch. 

Alone among the royal family, Marie Antoinette 
had continual presentiments from which she could no 
more escape at Saint Cloud than at the Tuileries. 
Every contemporary memoir bears witness to the fixed 
idea which had pursued her since the outbreak of the 
Revolution, and the sort of vertigo caused her by 
the half-open abyss beneath her feet. Even at times 
when something like calm and forgetfulness stole 
over her mind, she remained profoundly sad; her 
whole person seemed enveloped in a veil of melan- 
choly. She drew painful comparisons between the 
Saint Cloud of 1790 and the Saint Cloud of former 
years. The palace, the garden, the horizon, were the 
same, but how the light of other days was darkened! 
Where were now the times when the public thronged 
the park on Sunday evenings, and displayed such joy 
when the Queen with her children passed by in an 
open carriage, greeted by cheers and universal bene- 
dictions ? Then, as Weber says, Saint Cloud offered 
the appearance of a great family reunion. No man- 
ner of uneasiness kept away the curious. The apart- 
ments, the gardens, the hearts of the august hosts, 
were open to the French people. Whither had 
vanished the epoch of the royal eclogue, when the 
amiable Queen patronized ' the rural ball ? On the 
feast of Saint Cloud the peasants came in their best 



THE BOY AL FAMILY AT SAINT CLOUD. 45 

attire, and the Queen gave them proofs of her gener- 
osity, and sometimes joined in the dance like a simple 
peasant. Where was the companionship of the Poli- 
gnacs, so amusing, so brilliant, witty, and well pleased 
with life? How swiftly those days of light-hearted 
gaiety had fled away ! Marie Antoinette, recalling 
them, wrote from Saint Cloud to the self-exiled 
Duchess de Polignac, " Ah, how sad is that dining- 
room, once so gay ! " On the horizon the fair city of 
Paris, of old so beloved, so desired, how changed it 
seems ! Then it was the city of distractions, pleas- 
ures, and popular ovations, of gala representations, 
ceremonious entries, visits to the HStel de Ville, of 
Te Deums at Notre Dame, with salvos of applause 
and murmurs of admiration when the Queen ap- 
peared — the Queen, that privileged being, almost 
supernatural, more than woman, more than sovereign, 
a sort of goddess, whose smile seemed like a celestial 
benediction to the idolizing crowd. Paris is now 
the hellish furnace of the Revolution, whose, hot 
breath penetrates even to the gardens of Saint Cloud, 
to wither up the herbage, burn the greenery, and 
corrupt the atmosphere. No, no; Paris was no longer 
the good city, but the wicked city, the ungrateful, 
arrogant, and cruel city, the city of spies, calumnia- 
tors, persecutors, and, in a future, alas ! very near, 
the city of regicides. 

At Paris, in the whirlpool of affairs, in the midst 
of the m^lde, Marie Antoinette, as if the prey of an 
evil dream, had not fully realized her situation. At 



46 MABIE ANTOINETTE. 

Saint Cloud she reflected more, she had leisure to 
feel herself live. It was then she reflected on the 
past, looked the present in the face, and questioned 
the future. She passed in review the different periods 
of her destiny, already so fertile in contrasts. She 
recalled the souvenirs of the Burg and of Schoen- 
brunn, of the chateau of Versailles, and the Little 
Trianon. One day she was walking in the park of 
Saint Cloud with Madame de Tourzel, the Duchess 
of Fitz- James, and the Princess of Tarente. Seeing 
herself surrounded by National Guards, some of 
whom were deserters from the French Guards, she 
said with tears in her eyes : " How surprised my 
mother would be if she could see her daughter, the 
child, the wife, and the mother of kings, or, at least, 
of an infant destined to become one, surrounded by 
a guard like this ! It seems as if my father's mind 
was prophetic the day when I saw him for the last 
time." 

Then she related to the three ladies who accom- 
panied her that the Emperor Francis I., departing 
for Italy, whence he was never to return, had as- 
sembled his children about him to bid him farewell. 
" I was younger than my sisters," added Marie An- 
toinette ; " my father took me on his knees, embraced 
me several times, and always with tears in his eyes, 
as if he felt great pain in leaving me. This appeared 
singular to all who were present ; as for me, perhaps 
I should not have thought of it so often if my actual 
position, by recalling this circumstance, did not cause 



THE BOYAL FAMILY AT SAINT CLOUD. 4T 

me to dread for the remainder of my life a succes- 
sion of misfortunes which it is only too easy to fore- 
see." The impression which the Queen's last words 
produced was so vivid that all three of the ladies 
melted into tears. Then she said to them, with her 
accustomed grace and sweetness : " I reproach myself 
for having saddened you. Calm yourselves before 
returning to the chateau. Let us revive our courage. 
Providence will perhaps 'make us less unhappy than 
we fear." 

Saint Cloud was like an oasis in a desert parched 
by the sun. It was a halt, a resting-place upon the 
road to Calvary. In spite of her anxieties the Queen 
enjoyed this last respite, this latest favor of fortune. 
One might call it her farewell to the flowers, the 
country, the nature she so much loved. Her dreamy 
and poetic soul tasted with a sort of sad pleasure 
those supreme joys which were to be torn away from 
her so soon. She had still her husband, her children, 
and her sister-in-law, that saintly Madame Elisabeth, 
who watched beside royalty like a good angel. Ah ! 
while there is yet time, let us look well at this tran- 
quil and patriarchal residence of Saint Cloud; at 
these ancient trees which overshadow foreheads so 
pure ; at this noble royal family which, made sacred 
by misfortune and fortified by religion, gives an 
example of Christian virtues. It is an edifying spec- 
tacle, and consoles us; we are not willing to turn 
away our eyes. Let us banish dismal images. They 
will return but too quickly to dominate our thoughts. 



VII. 

MAEiE Antoinette's interview with mikabeait. 

THE only time that Marie Antoinette ever spoke 
with Mirabeau was at Saint Cloud, in private, 
on July 3, 1790, — a memorable interview, when two 
powerful influences came into each other's presence ; 
that of genius and eloquence, and that of royalty and 
beauty, — an affecting interview which left the great 
tribune, as it were, fascinated, and which, had he 
lived longer, might have resulted in the salvation 
of the French monarchy. The most illustrious of 
orators and the most august and charming of queens 
found themselves face to face for one day only, and 
on that day they treated with each other as equal 
powers. But it was the woman who prevailed; it 
was her influence which carried off the honors of 
victory. The foeman of yesterday was the liegeman 
of to-morrow. 

The man who succeeded in establishing relations 
between the court and Mirabeau was a great Belgian 
lord in the service of France, — Count de la Marck, 
younger son of the Duke of Arenberg. The corre- 
spondence between Mirabeau and Count de la Marck, 

48 



INTERVIEW WITH MIR ABE AU. 49 

collected, arranged, and annotated by M. de Bacourt, 
— a publication exceedingly interesting and of the 
greatest historical value, — gives details as curious 
as they are circumstantial concerning the part played 
by the famous tribune from the time when he became 
the secret agent of Louis XVI. while continuing to 
display the passions and speak the language of the 
Revolution. 

Count de la Marck and Mirabeau became ac- 
quainted in 1788, and at once conceived a mutual 
sympathy. Mirabeau's genius attracted Count de la 
Marck, who, in his turn, charmed and fascinated 
Mirabeau by his courtesy, his good breeding, and his 
high social position. At bottom the great tribune 
was aristocratic. As the Duke of Levis has remarked 
in his Souvenirs et Portraits, " he loved the monarchy 
through reason, and the nobility through vanity, even 
to the point of putting his servants in livery so soon 
as his means permitted, and that in a period when 
other people were, taking theirs out of it. He said 
one day to some Republican deputies, 'France will 
always need an aristocracy. ' " 

He was keenly chagrined by the fact that he was 
not thought well of in good society. Although by 
his birth he was on an equality with those who fre- 
quented the court, it was at once evident from his 
manners that he lacked the ease acquired by famil- 
iarity with the upper circles. He bowed too low 
when he wished to show politeness. He dressed in 
bad taste. Magnificent in the tribune, he was some- 



50 MARIE ANTOINETTE. 

what embarrassed on entering a drawing-room. He 
came in with an air of constrained gratitude which 
did not disappear until he was deep in conversation. 
" But then," says the Duke of Levis, " he quickly 
recovered his own place, which was the first." 

The memory of his faults and of his adventurous 
life oppressed him. " Ah ! " said he, " what injury 
the immorality of my youth has done to the public 
good ! " He was the fifth child, but, by the death 
of a brother he became the eldest son of the Mar- 
quis of Mirabeau, a rich proprietor and the head 
of a great Provengal family. Married very young 
to a rich heiress, he served at first in the army, but 
presently abandoned both his wife and profession. 
At odds with his father, overwhelmed with debts, re- 
duced to expedients, thrown into prison by arbitrary 
orders under the King's privy seal, obliged to live on 
his scanty earnings as an author, going from one 
irregularity to another, and from scandal to scandal, 
he got the reputation of a degraded and unworthy 
person. He threw himself into the revolutionary 
camp through bitterness and vexation. 

But this r51e did not fail to shock his secret in- 
stincts. He prided himself on his good birth, and 
suffered because he could not live in accordance 
with his hereditary rank. When, after the suppres- 
sion of titles and coats-of-arms he found himself 
designated in the reports of the sessions of the 
National Assembly under the plebeian appellation, 
Riquetti Senior, called Mirabeau, his old feudal pride 



INTERVIEW WITH MIR ABE AU. 51 



revolted in the tribune's soul. In the depth of his 
heart he cursed the arrogant Revolution which dared 
deprive him of his title as Count. He was enraged 
with himself for having served it, and muttered by 
way of excuse that he meant to war against it and 
hoped to be its master. The seeming demagogue was 
in reality a remorseful monarchist. Count de la 
Marck says ; " On several occasions when I was irri- 
tated by his revolutionary language in the tribune, I 
flew into a violent passion and berated him soundly. 
Well! he would burst into tears like a child, and- 
without baseness express his contrition with a sin- 
cerity which no one could doubt." 

Such was the man whom M. de la Marck found 
means to reconcile with the court. At first the task 
was not easy. The Queen's prejudices against the 
tribune seemed at first glance invincible. Toward 
the close of 1789 she wrote to M. de la Marck: "I 
have never doubted your sentiments, and when 
I learned that you were in league with Mirabeau I 
thought, assuredly, that it was with the best inten- 
tions. But you can accomplish nothing with him ; 
and as to what you consider necessary on the part of 
the King's ministers, I do not agree with you. We 
shall never, I think, be so unfortunate as to be re- 
duced to the painful necessity of having recourse to 
Mirabeau." 

A few weeks later things had changed. In March, 
1T90, Count de la Marck, who was in Belgium, was 
recalled to Paris by a word from Count de Mercy- 



62 MARIE ANTOINETTE, 

Argenteau, the Austrian Ambassador, and a friend of 
Marie Antoinette. The Queen had at last decided 
to take counsel with Mirabeau, and it was Count de 
la Marck wjiom she charged with the negotiation in 
the n^me of the King. Count de la Marck made 
known the conditions to his friend. 

Mirabeau was to receive six thousand livres a 
month, and all his debts, to the amount of two hun- 
dred and eight thousand livres, would be paid. It 
was, moreover, the King's intention to send him a 
million, if, at the close of the session of the National 
Assembly, he had fulfilled his engagements with the 
court faithfully. Never had Mirabeau been more 
rejoiced than by this news. Proud because his King 
had recourse to him, happy to pass in the twinkling 
of an eye from straitened circumstances to fortune, 
enraptured, enthusiastic, full of gratitude, he was in 
a sort of intoxication. 

The thing is done. The revolutionist becomes 
conservative. In appearance he will be still a trib- 
une. But at bottom he is a monarchist, a defender 
and servant of Louis XVI., a secret agent of the 
court, who sends note after note and gives counsel 
upon counsel. He wrote thus, May 10, 1790, in his 
first letter to the sovereign : " Profoundly moved by 
the anguish of the King, who has least merited his 
personal misfortunes, persuaded that if in his situa- 
tion there is a prince whose word may be relied on, 
that prince is Louis XVI., I am, nevertheless, so 
armed by men and events against the compassion 



INTEBYIEW WITH MIBABEAU. 53 

which springs from the sight of human vicissitudes, 
that I should experience an invincible repugnance 
against playing a part in this moment of factions and 
confusion, if I were not convinced that the re-estab- 
lishment of the King's legitimate authority is the 
prime necessity of France, and the only means of sav- 
ing it. But I see clearly that we are in anarchy and 
are sinking more deeply in it daily ; I am so indig- 
nant at the idea that I shall have contributed merely 
to a vast demolition, and the fear of seeing any one 
but the King at the head of the state is so insupport- 
able to me, that I feel imperiously summoned back to 
public affairs at the njpment when, vowed in a certain 
sense to the silence of contempt, I thought only of 
aspiring to retirement." 

And in the same letter he promises to the sover- 
eign " loyalty, zeal, activity, energy, and a courage of 
which no one, perhaps, has any just idea." He prom- 
ises " all, in fact, except success, which never depends 
on one alone." Some days afterwards he wrote, in 
the ardor of his royalistic zeal : "I have professed 
monarchical principles when I saw nothing in the 
court but its feebleness, and when, knowing neither 
the soul nor the thoughts of the daughter of Maria 
Theresa, I could not count on that august auxiliary. 
I have fought for the rights of the throne when I 
inspired nothing but distrust, and when every act of 
mine, envenomed by malignity, seemed like a snare. 
I have served the monarch when I knew very well 
that I need expect neither rewards nor benefits from a 



54 MARIE ANTOINETTE. 

just but deluded king. What will I not do now, when 
confidence has increased my courage, and when recog- 
nition has converted my principles into my duties ? " 

Mirabeau had not yet had the honor of speaking 
with Marie Antoinette, but he was already her enthu- 
siastic admirer. June 20, 1790, he wrote in one of 
his notes for the court : " The King has only one 
man ; it is his wife. There is no safety for her but 
in the re-establishment of the royal authority. I 
should like to believe that she would not desire life 
without her crown ; but what I am very certain of is, 
that she will not preserve her life if she does not pre- 
serve her crown. The time will come, and very soon, 
when she will have to try what a woman and child 
can do on horseback — for her that is a family fash- 
ion ; but, meanwhile, it is necessary to make prepa- 
rations, and not believe it possible, whether by the 
aid of chance or of combinations, to escape from an 
extraordinary crisis by the assistance of ordinary men 
and measures." 

The providential, the extraordinary man will be 
himself, the Count de Mirabeau. He who has con- 
verted the tribune into the gigantic pedestal of his 
renown, his pride ; he who, his heart fascinated by 
his own genius, his ears filled with the echoes of his 
thunderous voice, takes pleasure in the magnificent 
expansion of his triumphant personality, do you know 
what he aspires to as the greatest of his victories? 
A word, a smile, from Marie Antoinette. His chief 
desire is to present his homage to the Queen. 



INTEBVIEW WITH MIRABEAU. 55 

On July 3, 1790, this desire was at last realized. 
It was agreed that the interview should take place 
secretly at Saint Cloud. To conceal the proceeding, 
Mirabeau did not spend the previous night at Paris, 
hut at Auteuil, at the house of his niece, Madame 
d'Aragon. He was afterwards conducted with great 
mystery to the designated place of the political ren- 
dezvous. This, according to Madame Campan's 
account, was not an apartment of the palace, as M. de 
Lacretelle relates, but at the meeting of the paths in 
the high grounds of the Queen's private garden at 
Saint Cloud. 

Behold, then, the tribune and the sovereign face 
to face. Consider that interview wherein the royalty 
of birth and the royalty of genius experience a recip- 
rocal shudder as they contemplate each other. He is 
there, then, the man whom for more than a year the 
Queen has thought of as an object of terror, a sort of 
antichrist, whom she has called the monster. It is 
hardly nine months since he was described to her as 
a savage being, directing bands of brigands' coming 
from Paris to Versailles to slay her. It was a 
calumny, but she had believed it. She recalled the 
body-guards assassinated while defending her; her 
palace, her bedchamber, invaded by cannibals who 
demanded her head. She heard incessantly the sin- 
ister echo of furious cries, the cries of death ; and to 
all these souvenirs the menacing image of Mirabeau 
clung like a phantom. And now he was before her, 
that man of terrific ugliness, whose eyes flashed light- 



56 MAEIE ANTOINETTE. 

ning ; massive, and tall in stature ; his strong head 
large beyond all ordinary measure, and still further 
amplified by an enormous mass of hair which resem- 
bled a lion's mane. 

Behold him, this Titan of speech, this Atlas who 
would bear up a world ! And who, then, will be 
most intimidated by this meeting, the Queen or the 
tribune? It is he, he especially who is moved, he 
who has a shock of admiration and respect. Formi- 
dable orator, you who in the tribune seem able to 
knead marble with your gigantic hands ; you whose 
supernatural voice is like the trump of the last judg- 
ment; you who, at your own will unchain or calm 
the tempests ; at your feet all the fury of the multi- 
tudes would feebly expire — and yet the rustle of a 
woman's dress and the sound of her voice make you 
tremble ! 

Gentle, benevolent, august, the Queen addresses 
the tribune with the supreme grace of which she has 
the secret: "With an ordinary foe," she said to him, 
" with a man who might have sworn the downfall of 
monarchy without appreciating its utility to a great 
people, I should be at this moment taking a most im- 
proper step ; but when one speaks to a Mirabeau. . . ." 

Marie Antoinette went on in her most affable tone, 
and each of her words penetrated to the very depths 
of Mirabeau's soul. Ah ! how much more the pres- 
ence of this Queen, so fair, so noble, and so unhappy, 
flatters the French Demosthenes than all the triumphs 
of the tribune, all the intoxication of popularity ! 



INTERVIEW WITH MIEABEAU. 57 

How he ranks the least word from that sacred mouth 
above the most enthusiastic acclamations, the most 
frenzied applause of the National Assembly. Oh! 
he, at least, does not deceive himself like Cardinal 
de Rohan. It is not a false Queen there in the shrub- 
bery this time. It is the real Marie Antoinette, the 
daughter of the German Csesar, the child of Maria 
Theresa, the wife of the descendant of Henri IV. 
and Louis XIV., the Queen of France and Navarre I 
What an honor, what a rehabilitation, to be well 
received by such a woman ! Mirabeau is contented 
with himself. He feels proud and happy. All 
his remorse vanishes. All that has been evil in 
his past is but a dream. He opens a new career; 
he no longer doubts the future. Full of hope and 
full of faith, it is with profound conviction that he 
cries, in taking leave of the Queen, " Madame, the 
monarchy is saved ! " 



VIII. 

THE FESTIVAL OF THE FEDEKATION. 

IN July, 1790, the royal family left Saint Cloud 
for several days and went to Paris to be present 
at the fetes of the Federation. Never had the popu- 
lace been so preoccupied with any solemnity. The 
Moniteur described it as an "august fete, the most 
majestic and imposing which, since the annals of the 
world have been known to us, has honored the 
human race." The men of the French Revolution 
delighted in everything theatrical. Mythological 
pomps, souvenirs of antiquity, grandiose spectacles, 
enraptured them, and nothing so charmed the Paris- 
ians as open-air ceremonies in which they were both 
actors and spectators. 

The day chosen for the fete was July 14, the 
anniversary of the taking of the Bastille. The King, 
the members of the National Assembly, the army, 
and delegates from every department of France, were 
to assemble on the Champ-de-Mars and take a solemn 
oath to support the new Constitution. The people 
naively imagined that this Constitution was going to 
be the source of order, peace, liberty, progress, pros- 
58 



THE FESTIVAL OF THE FEBEBATION. 69 

perity, and a state of things which would bring back 
to earth the age of gold. The Hebrews in the 
desert had not awaited with more impatience the 
Holy Law which Moses brought down to them from 
Sinai. And yet, as nearly always happened at the 
time of the Revolution, a secret disquiet mingled 
with these illimitable hopes and joys. 

A few days before the fete, the Duke of Orleans, 
coming from England, where he had sojourned since 
the October days in a sort of exile, disguised under 
the title of a diplomatic mission, arrived in Paris, and 
in the evening made his appearance at the palace. 
This unexpected arrival alarmed everybody. It was 
believed that the Duke, badly received by the King, 
and almost insulted by the court, was about to 
organize a great conspiracy. The people, always 
credulous, believed the most contradictory and fabu- 
lous reports. Conservatives and revolutionists alike 
lent themselves to the most terrifying projects. Ac- 
cording to some, an insurrection was about to break 
out in Paris ; the deputies of the nobility would be 
massacred on the Champ-de-Mars ; Louis XVI. would 
be deprived of his crown, and the Duke of Orleans 
placed on the throne. According to others, there was 
to be a counter-revolution ; the patriots would have 
their throats cut, and the most popular members of 
the National Assembly would be shot; the suburbs 
would be burned, and Louis XVI., leaving the Champ- 
de-Mars, would re-enter the Tuileries as an absolute 
monarch. This panic did not last long. The multi- 



60 MARIE ANTOINETTE. 

tude, always fickle, soon lost all fear, and busying 
themselves in preparations for the fete with a pas- 
sionate activity which bordered on frenzy, they be- 
came absorbed in sentiments of confidence and joy. 

Twelve thousand workmen were constantly em- 
ployed in the Champ-de-Mars, where, by means of 
circular terraces, they were about to form a gigantic 
amphitheatre, whose benches would seat three hun- 
dred thousand spectators. It was an immense piece 
of work. As it was feared that they might not be 
able to finish it by July 14, and as this revolutionary 
date was deemed essential, the districts, in the name 
of the country, invited all good citizens to come to 
the aid of the workmen in the Champ-de-Mars with 
shovels and wheelbarrows. This invitation, so con- 
formable to the patriotic ideas of the time, excited 
general enthusiasm. Through fashion and infatua- 
tion, still more than through patriotism, everybody 
saw in this labor both a pleasure and a duty. 

According to Camille Desmoulins, the day which 
is approaching is " the day of deliverance from Egyp- 
tian bondage, and the crossing of the Red Sea; it is 
the first day of the year One of Liberty ; it is the 
day predicted by the prophet Ezekiel, — the day of 
destiny, the great feast of the lanterns." Patriots of 
all classes, men and women, old men and children, 
rich and poor — which of you is unwilling to aid in 
making ready the splendors of such a solemnity ? 
Come then, one and all, to join this immense band of 
laborers where, as the Marquis de Ferri^res has said, 



THE FESTIVAL OF THE FEDERATION. 61 

"the dishevelled courtesan finds herself next to a 
shamefaced virgin ; where the Capuchin hauls a dray 
with the chevalier of Saint Louis, the porter with the 
coxcomb from the Palais Royal; where the robust 
herring-woman pushes the wheelbarrow loaded by the 
fashionable and hypochondriacal lady." 

"It is the ballet of the reunion of classes," says 
Camille Desmoulins. It is like a great Flemish 
festival. People sing while they work. The peram- 
bulating eating-houses, the portable shops, add to the 
animation of the scene. Do you hear the buffooneries, 
the songs, the noise of drums and trumpets, the 
spades, the wheelbarrows, the voices of the laborers 
who call to and encourage each other ? Do you see 
these Seminarists, these Carthusians, who have left 
their cloisters to come to this civic rendezvous ? Do 
you see these marquises who take off their gloves to 
shake hands with charcoal-dealers ? They say that 
Saint Just, pushing a wheelbarrow, met the Countess 
du Barry, with a shovel in her hand. A disabled sol- 
dier of Louis XIV.'s day is working with his wooden 
leg. What activity reigns amid these hundred and 
fifty thousand voluntary laborers ! So much zeal 
ends by accomplishing the desired result. The ter- 
races are finished. The Champ-de-Mars is ready. 
How the patriots rejoice ! Behold the Fourteenth of 
July, the great day ! 

The Federates, ranged by departments, under 
pighty-three banners, have been assembled since day- 
break on the Place de la Bastille. Deputies, soldiers 



62 MARIE ANTOINETTE. 

of tlie line, and marine troops, the Parisian National 
Guard, drummers, bands of singers, and the banners 
of the sections open and close the march. The 
immense procession passes through the streets of 
Saint Martin, Saint Denis, and Saint Hon ore. On 
reaching the Tuileries, its ranks are swelled by the 
municipal officials and the Assembly. It passes on 
through the Cours la Reine and enters the Champ-de- 
Mars by a bridge of boats which has been constructed 
across the stream. At the end of this bridge rises a 
triumphal arch, on which may be read the following 
mottoes : — 

" We fear you no longer, petty tyrants, 
You who oppressed us under a hundred different names." 

" The rights of man have been disregarded for centuries ; 
they have been re-established for all humanity." 

" The king of a free people is the only powerful king." 

Another motto may also be read, which will not be 
pondered sufficiently : — 

" You cherish this liberty, you possess it now ; show your- 
selves worthy to preserve it." 

Three hundred thousand spectators are crowded 
together on the sides of the amphitheatre. They 
have been there since six in the morning. The 
weather is bad. The showers produce a singular 
effect. As soon as it begins to rain, thousands of 
different colored umbrellas are opened, and change 



THE FESTIVAL OF THE FEDERATION. 63 

the aspect of the terraces. The Federates, dripping 
with water and perspiration, are no longer gay and in 
high spirits. To pass away the time, the first comers 
begin a Provencal dance. Those who follow them 
join in, and form a circle which soon embraces a large 
portion of the Champ-de-Mars. Not contented with 
dancing', the Federates engage in mock combats; 
cities against country places, departments against de- 
partments, ProvenQaux against Flemings, Lorrainers 
against Bretons. These little wars terminate in fra- 
ternal embraces. Then the dances begin again, bet- 
ter than ever. 

The delighted spectators beat time, and applaud. 
The foreigners cry, "Look at these devils of French- 
men who dance while it is raining fast." Who cares 
for bad weather when the sun in the heart is shining? 
Finally, the entire procession is about to enter the 
Champ-de-Mars. The games cease, and every Feder- 
ate returns to his own banner. 

The circumference of the circus, on the side of the 
buildings of the Military School, is closed by a large 
covered gallery, ornamented with blue and gold 
hangings, in the midst of which is a pavilion intended 
for the King. Behind the throne is a private box for 
the Queen, the Dauphin, and the Princesses of the 
royal family. The sovereign being no longer more 
than half a sovereign, until the time should come 
when he would not be even that, there had been 
placed beside his throne, and about three feet distant, 
another armchair of the same size, covered with 



64 MABIE ANTOINETTE. 

azure velvet, sown with golden lilies: it was destined 
for the President of the National Assembly. A vast 
altar rose in the middle of the immense space encir- 
cled by the amphitheatre. It was twenty-five feet 
high. It Avas ascended by four staircases terminating 
in a platform, where incense was burned in antique 
vases. On the south front of this altar these two 
distichs might be read : — 

" Mortals are equal ; it is not their birth, 
It is their virtue differences their worth." 

" Throughout the State, the Law should reign supreme, 
Equal, to her, are men, howe'er they seem." 

On the opposite side angels were represented, sound- 
ing trumpets bearing these inscriptions : — 

" Consider these three sacred words : the Nation, the Law, 
the King. The Nation is You. The Law, again, is You. The 
King is the guardian of the Law." 

On the side facing the Seine might be distin- 
guished an image of Liberty, and a Genius hovering 
in the air with a pennon on which was written, 
"Constitution." 

Three hundred priests, vested in white albs, and 
wearing tricolored scarfs, cover the steps of the 
altar. Talleyrand, Bishop of Autun, and a member 
of the National Assembly, is about to say the Mass. 
The ofhce begins. Fortunately, the clouds disperse, 
and the sun comes out. Chants, military music, and 



THE FESTIVAL OF THE FEDERATION . %5 

salvos of artillery mingle with the bishop's voice. At 
the Elevation the drums beat a salute ; the trumpets 
sound; the whole crowd are on their knees. The 
Mass ended, Lafayette dismounts from his white 
horse, and walks over to the galleries where the 
King, the royal family, the Ministers, and the mem- 
bers of the National Assembly are seated, and ascend- 
ing the fifty steps leading to the throne of Louis XVL, 
receives the commands of the sovereign, who hands 
to him the formula of the appointed oath. Turning 
afterwards toward the altar, Lafayette lays his sword 
upon it, and, going up to its most elevated point, he 
gives the signal for the oath by waving a flag in air. 

The hundred pieces of artillery, the two thousand 
brass instruments, the hundreds of thousands of 
spectators, all are silent. In this religious silence 
one voice alone is heard: the voice of Lafayette. 
Laying one hand on his heart, and lifting the other 
toward heaven, he pronounces these words : " We 
swear to be always faithful to the nation, the law, 
and the King; to maintain with all our power the 
Constitution decreed by the National Assembly, and 
accepted by the King ; to protect, comformably with 
the laws, the security of person and property, the 
traffic in grains and other provisions in the interior 
of the kingdom, the collection of public taxes under 
whatever form they exist, and to remain united to 
all Frenchmen by the indissoluble ties of fraternity." 

Then all arms are flung up, all swords brandished, 
and an immense cry breaks forth: "I swear it." The 



QQ MARIE ANTOINETTE. 

artillery of neighboring municipalities announces the 
oath to more distant ones, which, in their turn, trans- 
mit it in like manner, and with lightning swiftness, 
to the very extremities of France : to France trans- 
formed in an instant into an immense Champ-de- 
Mars, where twenty-five millions of French Federates 
swear, at the same moment, to defend the law, to be 
faithful to the sovereign, and to live and die for 
their country. Louis XVI. rises and pronounces 
these words in a strong voice: "I, King of the 
French, swear to employ the power delegated to me 
by the constitutional act of the State, in maintaining 
the Constitution decreed by the National Assembly, 
and by me accepted." The Queen takes the Dauphin 
in her arms, and, presenting him to the people, 
'' Behold my son," says she ; " he joins, as I do, in 
the same sentiments." From every breast break forth 
these cries, repeated with wild enthusiasm: "Long 
live the King ! Long live the Queen ! Long live 
Monseigneur the Dauphin ! " The weather is com- 
pletely settled. No more clouds ; the sun shines in 
full splendor. 

Who would not feel his hopes revive in presence 
of this colossal demonstration, this delirium of good- 
will and reconciliation ? Optimism is in the air. It 
is an irresistible current. How can one be severe on 
the generous illusions of the unfortunate Louis XVI., 
remembering that these illusions were not his alone, 
but those of a whole nation ? At this hour the mon- 
archy is regarded as the best of republics. People 



THE FESTIVAL OF THE FEDERATION. 67 

Lill into ecstasies over the merits and virtues of the 
patriot-King. It is like a picture by Greuze which 
should suddenly become an incommensurable fresco. 
One might say that the old regime and the Revolu- 
tion, reconciled once for all, are exchanging the kiss 
of peace, and pressing each other in a cordial embrace. 
Brethren uniting tenderly around an exemplary father 
of a family, — such was the tableau presented by the 
Champ-de-Mars. Woe to him, who, in this innumer- 
able multitude, should venture a single word of doubt 
concerning the future ! Woe to him who would have 
the temerity to disbelieve in the resurrection of the 
age of gold ! 

A Te Deum with full orchestra is about to termi- 
nate the ceremony. It is five o'clock in the after- 
noon. The Federates go in good order to the chateau 
of La Muette, where a grand banquet, served in the 
alleys of the park, is awaiting them. Out of bed 
from dawn to midnight, they have walked from their 
homes to the Place de la Bastille, from there to 
the Champ-de-Mars, from the Champ-de-Mars to La 
Muette, from La Muette back to their lodgings. 
They have danced, cried, sung, and been drenched 
with torrents of rain ; and still they are enthusiastic, 
rapt to the seventh heaven. It must be admitted 
that this vigorous generation, which, some years later, 
was to perform so many brilliant deeds, so many 
prodigies on every battle-field of Europe, braves fa- 
tigue and danger with an ardor and animation which 
excuse many faults. 



MABIE ANTOINETTE. 



The rejoicings lasted for several days. At the 
Barriere de I'Etoile the King held a grand review. 
The Queen was present in an open carriage with the 
Dauphin and Madame Elisabeth. She spoke with ex- 
quisite politeness to all who approached her, and more 
than one Federate had the honor of kissing her hand. 
In the evening, the municipality gave a grand popu- 
lar fete. The two principal points of reunion were 
on the Place de la Bastille and the Champs-Elys^es. 
Where the former prison had stood there was a ball, 
and this inscription: "Dancing here." In the even- 
ing no carriages could pass. Everybody was obliged 
to go on foot. Everybody was happy to show that 
he belonged to the people. 

The Champs-Elysees presented a fairy-like aspect, 
with its lights depending from every tree, its wreaths 
of lanterns, its pyramids of flame. "It was at the 
Champs-Elys^es," said the Marquis de Ferri^res, " that 
sensible men took most satisfaction in the fete. The 
citizen, with his family, ate, chatted, walked about, 
and was agreeably conscious of his existence. Young 
girls and boys were dancing to the music of bands 
placed here and there in open spaces among the 
trees. ... A sweet and sentimental joy visible on 
all faces, and shining in every eye, recalled the placid 
enjoyment of happy shades in the Elysian fields of 
the ancients. The white garments of a multitude of 
women straying amid the trees of these fine avenues 
added to the illusion." 

O dreams too swiftly vanished I Chimeras which 



THE FESTIVAL OF THE FEDERATION. 69 

the terrible reality will presently cause to disappear ! 
Strange festivals where reconciliation lies on the sur- 
face while hatred and passion live still within the 
depths. Envy and rancor pierce through these idyls, 
these gigantic eclogues. People sing the Ca ira : — 

" Ca ira, ga ira, 
To the lamp-posts with the aristocrats ; 

Ca ira, fa ira, 
The aristocrats, we'll hang them all I " 

A sagacious observer might readily have foreseen 
that to the three words, Liberty, Equality, Fra- 
ternity, there would speedily be added this conclu- 
sion of the formula : " Or Death." The Mass was 
preceded by a dance. No doubt the patriots reminded 
each other that David danced before the ark. Why 
should not they dance before the altar of the Federa- 
tion? No matter I This mixture of patriotism and 
religion makes a poor alloy. Such an ecclesiastic as 
the Bishop of Autun seems hardly the man to 
invoke the blessings of the Lord upon the crowds 
assembled in the Champ-de-Mars. There is more 
mythology than Christianity in the whole affair. 

Optimists, do not rejoice ! Yet a little while, and 
these honest royalists, these tender-hearted people, 
who come with the Federates of Beam to shed tears 
of filial tenderness at the foot of the statue of Henri 
IV., will be howling with rage around the scaffold 
of his descendant. 

Who are the three men that come most noticeably 
to the front in the f 6te of the Champ-de-Mars ? A 



70 MABIE ANTOINETTE. 

king, a general, and a bishop. The king is the future 
martyr ; the general, the future prisoner of Olmutz ; 
the bishop is the future exile, the priest who throws 
away his chasuble, cross, and mitre. The Mass cele- 
brated by this pontiff will not bring good fortune 
either to Louis XYI. or to France ! 



IX. 

MIRABEAU'S DOUBLE KOLE. 

MIRABEAU'S interview with Marie Antoinette 
had made a profound impression on him. 
The royal vision remained in his eyes and in his 
heart as a kind of bewildering dream. He wept 
with remorse when he thought that formerly he might 
have been esteemed the enemy of this beautiful sov- 
ereign. He wept with joy in reminding himself that 
thenceforward he would be her knight, her defender. 
Certain suspicions concerning this sudden conver- 
sion of the famous tribune got into circulation. An 
article published in a daily paper, L' OrateMr du 
Peuple^ accused him of having gone to Saint Cloud, 
and insinuated that he must have seen the Queen. 
Mirabeau admitted that he had left Paris to pay a 
visit to his niece, Madame d'Aragon, but declared 
that the alleged interview at Saint Cloud was purely 
imaginary. Things rested there, although for several 
days accounts of the " Great treason of Count Mira- 
beau" were hawked about the streets of Paris. 

To kindle and extinguish conflagrations, to unchain 
and quiet tempests, to be by turns revolutionists and 

71 



72 MABIE ANTOINETTE, 

conservatives, destroyers and preservers, is the dream 
of ambitious men who imagine themselves able to 
play vi^ith human passions like an Indian juggler 
with his bowls, and who frequently believe them- 
selves the masters of events when in reality they 
are merely their slaves. During several months it 
was possible for Mirabeau to play a double part 
without being unmasked; but had he lived longer, 
the deception could not have been kept up, and the 
great man, driven into a corner, would have been 
forced to make his choice between the two selves — 
the royalist and the tribune — that were incarnated 
in him. 

All energetic men, no matter who they may be, 
have the governing instinct, and their aim, if they 
hope to arrive at power, is order and domination. 
Revolution is not an end, but a means to most great 
agitators, and there are few demagogues who do not 
long to be all-powerful. Mirabeau's ideal was to 
become the strong and influential minister of an 
undisputed king, crushing all resistance with his 
iron hand, and saying with an absolute voice to the 
revolutionary flood : " Thou shalt go no further." 

A socialist journal, published at Verviers, calls 
itself The Mirabeau. This journal is doubtless not 
well acquainted with the part assumed by the great 
tribune during the last months of his life. I suspect 
that the democrats of our day would not feel dis- 
posed to approve the ideas and principles he pro- 
fessed. It is rather singular to recall how the great- 



MIRABEAU'S DOUBLE ROLE. 73 



est orator of tlie French Revolution judged Paris, 
the National Assembly, and the National Guard, if 
not in the tribune, at least in the privacy of his con- 
science. 

Desire for a reaction went to the length of Machi- 
avellianism in the mind of the tribune, now become 
the secret agent of the court. He wished to lay 
snares for the Assembly, and make it the victim of 
its own faults and outrages. He even became a dis- 
ciple of that school which, in all epochs of disorder, 
expresses the hope that good must be born from the 
excess of evil. He had two policies, two faces. He 
lived a double life, — the revolutionist on this side, 
the royalist on that. The equilibrium he continued 
to preserve between them was almost miraculous. 
There was so much force, skill, and eloquence in this 
powerful actor, that even his adversaries dared not 
suspect him. His popularity was like a sturdy oak 
which defies wind and lightning. 

Nevertheless, this double part has something essen- 
tially disagreeable about it. When one thinks of the 
man who had just fulminated demagogic invectives 
in the tribune, returning to his own house, and sitting 
down in private to write his communications to the 
court, it is impossible not to be distressed by a du- 
plicity which would have needed to be unhired in 
order to be excused. Assuredly Mirabeau pursued 
a plan approved by his conscience. But, for all that, 
he remains, in spite of all his genius and his glory, a 
man who was obliged to skulk, who received hush- 



74 MARIE ANTOINETTE. 

money, who would have been ruined completely in 
public opinion if his writings and his actions had sud- 
denly been made known. Like all talented men whose 
conscience troubles them, he was at once haughty and 
humble ; haughty when he was on view before men, 
humble when he entered within himself. His Atlas 
shoulders, huge and powerful as they were, bent 
under the intolerable burden of his double part. 
He would have liked to be himself before God and 
men. 

Let us interrogate the depths of his soul. Let us 
see him as he is. Let us ask his opinions of men 
and things. Parisians, this is what he has to say of 
your city, so well satisfied with itself : " Never were 
so many combustible elements and inflammable mate- 
rials brought together on a single hearth. A hun- 
dred scribblers whose sole resource is disorder, a 
multitude of insubordinate strangers who kindle dis- 
cord in all public places, ... all that is most cor- 
rupt in both extremes, — the dregs of the nation arid 
the most elevated classes, — and this is Paris. This 
city knows its strength. It has exercised it by turns 
on the army, the King, the Ministers, and the Assem- 
bly. It is certain that Paris is the last city in the 
kingdom to which peace will be restored. It is neces- 
sary, therefore, to destroy its influence in the prov- 
inces, to make its projects dreaded, to show the 
expenses of every sort which it occasions, and to 
make th'e people desire that a second legislative body 
shall be placed in a city where its independence and 



MIBABEAU'S DOUBLE BOLE. 75 

the King's liberty will be more secure." (47tli Note 
to the Court, December 23, 1790.) 

Partisans of the National Guard, listen to what 
Mirabeau has to say in the same note of that insti- 
tution : " I consider the National Guard of Paris as 
an obstacle to the restoration of order. . . . This 
troop is too numerous to have any esprit de corps, 
too closely united to the citizens ever to resist them, 
too easy to corrupt, not in masses, but as individuals, 
not to be an instrument always ready to serve the 
seditious." 

You who respect the parliamentary system so 
greatly, do you wish to know hoAv Mirabeau thought 
the National Assembly should be treated? In the 
same note he writes: "I have already pointed out 
several ways of attacking the Assembly. They may 
be reduced chiefly to these : Let it issue every decree 
which may increase the number of malcontents ; in- 
cite it to destroy the rural municipalities, to change 
the organizations of those of cities, and to put a check 
on the administration of departments ; get up popu- 
lar petitions to it on points known to be out of har- 
mony with its principles; push it further toward 
usurping all powers; make its discussions bear on 
unimportant topics ; have the minority introduce the 
most popular motions, so that they may be thrown 
out or modified ; prolong the session until the abuses 
of the new judiciary order, and the difficulty in the 
way of imposing taxes, shall become thoroughly 
known ; acquaint it every day with the obstructions 



76 MABIE ANTOINETTE. 

wliicli hinder the execution of its laws, and demand 
that it shall explain them itself ; and, in fine, neglect 
at the same time no opportunity to augment the pop- 
ularity of the Queen and the King. There is no 
room for hesitation ; if this Assembly runs its course 
triumphantly, the state of public opinion permits no 
further hope." 

The devoted agent of the court, Mirabeau thus 
insists on the importance of the advice he gives it : — 

" Everything may be hoped if my plan is adopted ; 
and if it is not, if this last plank of safety escapes us, 
there is no misfortune, from individual assassinations 
to pillage, from the downfall of the throne to the 
dissolution of the empire, which may not be antici- 
pated. What other resource exists except this plan ? 
Is not the ferocity of the people increasing by de- 
grees ? Are they not being induced to hope for the 
division of property ? . . . Could frenzy and fanati- 
cism be pushed to a higher point than they are in 
the National Assembly ? Unhappy nation ! Behold 
whither you have been led by men who have put 
intrigue in the place of talent! Honest but feeble 
King! unfortunate Queen! look down into the 
frightful abyss to which your fluctuations between 
a too blind confidence and an exaggerated distrust 
have conducted you ! One effort can still be made 
by each of you; but it is the last. If it is not 
attempted, or if it fails, a funereal pall is about to 
envelop this empire. What will be its destiny? 
Whither will drift this vessel, struck by the lightning 



MIUABEAU' S DOUBLE ROLE. 77 

and beaten by the storm ? I do not know ; but if I 
make my own escape from the public wreck, I shall 
always say with pride in my retirement, 'I exposed 
myself to ruin in order to save them all, and they 
would not.' " 

We have just seen in Mirabeau the extreme con- 
servative, the ardent reactionist, the man of order, 
discipline, authority, the zealous, convinced, enthu- 
siastic royalist. And yet in the tribune it still 
often happened to him to display revolutionary sen- 
timents. If there was talk of hoisting the tricolor 
instead of the white flag upon the government ves- 
sels, or of the pillage of the H6tel de Castries by 
the people, or some other burning question, the dema- 
gogue, the agitator, reappeared at once. Intoxicated 
by the applause which greeted his fiery harangues, 
he became again the idol of the multitude, and de- 
lighted in his popularity. Like great actors who play 
successively two different parts with equal talent and 
conviction, he forgot perhaps, for a moment, that he 
was a reactionist, an enemy of the National Assem- 
bly, a secret agent of the Tuileries. He was like 
those consummate advocates, who feel they possess 
sufficient address and eloquence to argue both their 
own cause and the opposing one. There was room 
in this exuberant and fiery nature for both the Revo- 
lution and the counter-revolution. He was the engine 
and the brake, the torrent and the dike. 

O powerful orator, amuse yourself with your 
genius ! May your eloquence give you, if not the 



78 MARIE ANTOINETTE. 

joys of a patriot, at least those of an artist I Win the 
applause of this Assembly which hardly suspects that 
you are the man who most opposes it! Listen to 
yourself talk I May the majesty of your voice en- 
chant your own ears ! May the captivating influence 
of your discourse carry you away from earth ! All 
this will not last much longer. Both you and the 
monarchy are condemned to a speedy end. Your 
popularity can accomplish nothing for the welfare of 
France. You, who hardly desire anything hut storms 
and shipwrecks, strive vainly to-day to play the pilot. 
The sea is too rough, the tempest too formidable, and 
you can no more reason with the Eevolution than 
with the dead. Let the crew tremble, then ! You 
try in vain to save them. It is too late. 



X. 



THE DEPAETUEE OF THE KING S AUNTS. 

A BREACH liad opened in the ranks of the 
King's adherents. The most ardent supporters 
of the monarchy were no longer at hand to defend it. 
Througli a mistaken notion of honor, the royalists 
gloried in abandoning their sovereign, the military in 
deserting the field of battle. The court ladies despised 
the young men who would not emigrate. The nobility 
departed as if for a rendezvous of patriotism and 
monarchical fidelity. Tliose who remained in France 
hardly dared to show themselves. Great ladies sent 
them distaffs, symbols of cowardice. People emi- 
grated through vanity, or conceit, or because it was 
the fashion. It was said that the King's brothers 
knew better than any one what comported with his 
service, and that, if they had thought it right to 
betake themselves to foreign lands, the place of the 
faithful jiobility was also there. It was added that 
all that would be necessary to crush the impertinent 
Revolution, was to show one's crest. "It will last 
about two weeks," said the earliest fugitives. 

Louis XVI., always weak and fluctuating, had 

79 



80 MARIE ANTOINETTE. 

neither the courage to approve nor to disavow the 
emigration. Officially, he condemned it, but at bot- 
tom he hoped to make it useful. He had in it not 
merely relatives, friends, and servants, but agents. 
It inspired him by turns with fear and sympathy. 
Sometimes he saw a danger in it, and again a last 
chance of safety. At one moment he criticised the 
emigrants, at another he would have been glad to be 
among them. The sovereign, perhaps, treated them as 
conspirators, but the man, the husband, and the father 
told himself that these conspirators might well become 
the saviours of his wife and children. Not knowing 
clearly what he wished, the unfortunate monarch was 
drawn in different directions. It happened to him, 
the best and most well-intentioned man in the king- 
dom, to play a double part, and to incarnate in him- 
self two kings, — the king of the tricolor and the 
king of the white flag. Ah ! woe to the epochs 
when the notion of right becomes obscured, when 
conscience, virtue, and patriotism, being interrogated, 
know not what to answer ! Happy the people among 
whom one may serve his country regularly and with- 
out hesitation, where duty is precise, incontestable, 
and uncontested, where the same fact is not at the 
same time characterized as loyal and as criminal, as 
fidelity and as treason ! 

Even while disavowing the emigration, the court 
was in secret relations with it. That was what 
caused the uneasy suspicions which disquieted the 
multitude and made them cast anxious glances across 



THE DEPABTUBE OF THE KING'S AUNTS. 81 

the frontiers. They had a presentiment that Louis 
XVI. would flee from Paris, and the very people 
who rendered the royal family so unhappy could not 
become accustomed to the idea of seeing them go 
away. This explains the extreme excitement felt 
when the King's aunts left Bellevue to go to Rome. 
No one cared much about these Princesses ; they lived 
in a sort of retirement and took no part in politics. 
But it was feared lest their departure might prove 
the signal for that of the King and Queen. More- 
over, the resolution adopted by the ladies resulted in 
recalling public attention to the emigration, that 
burning question which was one of those that most 
inflamed the imagination of the people. 

Mesdames Adelaide and Victoire, daughters of Louis 
XV., and aunts of Louis XVL, had essayed to make 
themselves forgotten from the beginning of the Revo- 
lution. They lived in a retired manner at their chateau 
of Bellevue, occupying themselves solely in works of 
charity, but regretting the old regime and sharing all 
the ideas of the emigrants. Like their father, they 
had a horror of newfangled opinions, and whether 
in religion or politics, were profoundly devoted to 
retrograde principles. When the Revolution grew 
more pronounced, it became insupportable to them to 
remain in France. They had only one idea, — to 
quit a country polluted by disorder, and go to Rome 
to kneel in the basilica of Saint Peter, to meditate 
and pray. 

Louis XVI. did not think it right to oppose his 



82 MABIE ANTOINETTE. 

aunts' desire. Their passports were signed, and Car- 
dinal de Bernis,the French Ambassador to Rome, was 
notified of their speedy arrival. They were about to 
start, when, on February 3, 1791, an anonymous inti- 
mation of their intention was sent to the Jacobin 
Club. Alarm, fury against the court, patriotic rage, 
was the immediate result. A deputation from the 
municipal body went to the Assembly and to the 
Tuileries to make complaint. "I have already ex- 
plained to the municipality," said Louis XVI., " that 
my aunts, being their own mistresses, have the right 
to go wherever they please. I know their hearts too 
well to believe that any one need borrow any trouble 
concerning the motives of their journey." 

The shrews of the Palais Royal, who assembled in 
the garden every evening, agreed to go out to Belle- 
vue together and prevent the departure of the Prin- 
cesses. The ladies, warned of the approach of these 
menacing hordes, went at once, without waiting to 
finish their preparations. In the evening of Febru- 
ary 19 they abruptly quitted the chateau, in the car- 
riage of a lady who had come to pay them a visit. 
When the women from Paris arrived, their rage at 
finding the chateau empty was extreme. They 
wanted at least to avenge themselves, by preventing 
the departure of the baggage wagons. General Alex- 
andre Berthier (the future Prince of Wagram) put a 
stop to this. But he allowed them to enter the apart- 
ments, empty the cellars, and loll on the beds of the 
Princesses. 



THE DEPARTUBE OF THE KING'S AUNTS. 83 

The language of the Revolutionary journals was a 
medley of anger and disdain. The Chroniqiie de 
Paris published this sarcastic article : — 

" Two Princesses, sedentary by condition, age, and 
taste, are suddenly possessed by a mania for travelling 
and running about the world. That is singular, but 
possible. They are going, so people say, to kiss the 
Pope's slipper. That is droll, but edifying. 

'•'' Thirty-two sections and all good citizens get 
between them and Rome. That is very simple. 

"The Ladies, and especially Madame Adelaide, 
want to exercise the rights of man. That is natural. 

"They do not go, they say, with intentions op- 
posed to those of the Revolution. That is possible, 
but difficult. 

"The fair travellers are followed by a train of 
eighty persons. That is fine. But they carry away 
twelve millions. That is very ugly. 

"They need change of air. That is the custom. 
But this removal disturbs their creditors. That is 
also the custom. 

" They burn to travel (the desire of young girls is 
a devouring fire). That is the custom. People burn 
to keep them at home. That is also the custom." 

The Sahhats Jacobites used still more ironical lan- 
guage. It said : — 

" The Ladies are going to Italy to try the power 
of their tears and their charms upon the princes of 
that country. Already the Grand Master of Malta 
has caused Madame Adelaide to be informed that he 



84 MARIE ANTOINETTE. 

will give her his heart and hand as soon as she has 
quitted France, and that she may count upon the 
assistance of three galleys and forty-eight cavaliers, 
young and old. Our Holy Father undertakes to 
marry Victoire and promises her his army of three 
hundred men to bring about a counter-revolution." 

The journey of the Ladies was painful. At Moret 
people wished to arrest them, and cried, ''To the 
lamp-post ! " It was owing to the protection of some 
cavaliers belonging to the Lorraine Chasseurs that 
they were able to continue their route. February 21, 
at the moment of entering Arnay-le-Duc, they were 
made prisoners by the municipality of the town, who 
determined to keep them until the National Assembly 
should have decided whether or not they might con- 
tinue their journey. The question was taken to Paris, 
in the name of the municipality of Arnay-le-Duc, by 
one of the town officials, and M. de Narbonne, on be- 
half of the Princesses. While awaiting a solution, 
the two Princesses were confined in a miserable 
room in a tavern. 

The National Assembly discussed the matter. M. 
de Narbonne, their chevalier of honor, pleaded the 
cause of the Ladies very skilfully. " The welfare of 
the people," said Mirabeau, "cannot depend on the 
journey the Ladies undertake to Rome ; while they 
are promenading near the places where the Capitol 
once stood, nothing prevents the edifice of our lib- 
erty from rising to its utmost height." The debate 
was ended by Count de Menou, who exclaimed: 



THE DEPARTURE OF THE KING'S AUNTS. 85 

" Europe will doubtless be mucli astonished, when it 
learns that the National Assembly of France spent 
four entire hours in deliberating on the departure of 
two ladies who would rather hear Mass in Rome -than 
in Paris." 

Conformably with Mirabeau's advice, the National 
Assembly declared that the Ladies were at liberty to 
depart. At Arnay-le-Duc there was a riot. The pop- 
ulace were unwilling to accept the decision of the 
Assembly. The Princesses were detained for two 
days longer, and were only permitted to continue 
their journey on March 3, after eleven days' impris- 
onment. When they had crossed the bridge of Beau- 
voisin, they were hooted from the French shore, 
while salvos of artillery welcomed them to foreign 
soil. They could not believe they were in safety 
until tliey reached Chamb^ry, where one of the chief 
palace officials of the King of Sardinia saluted them 
in his master's name, and installed them in the 
palace. 

At Paris the excitement had been very great. On 
the very evening when the Assembly decided in favor 
of the Ladies, a crowd of rioters, public women, and 
Jacobin emissaries, invaded the courts and the garden 
of the Tuileries, demanding, with furious cries, that 
the King should order the Ladies to return to him at 
once. The National Guard came up. The gates of 
the chateau were closed. The populace commanded 
the soldiers to lay down their bayonets, but they re- 
fused. Six cannons were levelled at the crowd. " I 



86 MARIE ANTOINETTE. 

have always wished to display gentleness," said Louis 
XVI., " but one must know how to combine it with 
firmness, and teach the people that they were not 
made to dictate the law, but to obey it." Lafayette 
was ordered to disperse the crowd, and he succeeded 
in doing so. 



XI. 

THE KNIGHTS OF THE PONIAED. 

THERE is no longer any dike in the way of the 
torrent. Anarchy is everywhere. The govern- 
mental machine is broken. Louis XVI. is no longer 
more than the shadow of a king. There is no 
calumny, however absurd, which is not universally 
believed; no appeal to the passions which does not 
receive immediate hearing. Words lose their mean- 
ing. Rebellion is called patriotism. The faithful 
servants who come to protect the person of their king 
with a rampart of their own bodies, are treated as 
seditious, as assassins, and are pointed out to popular 
vengeance under the melodramatic title of " Knights 
of the Poniard." 

The multitude is restless, agitated, on the morning 
of February 28, 1791. One might say that the ex- 
plosive materials with which the ground is strewn 
are about to be set on fire. Certain repairs are being 
made in the dungeon of Vincennes, so that it may 
serve as an auxiliary to the prisons of Paris. A 
rumor spreads among the populace to the effect that 
a new Bastille is preparing, to succeed the former 

87 



MARIE ANTOINETTE. 



one. The rioters, recruited from the Faubourg Saint 
Antoine by Santerre, go to the castle of Vincennes, 
and begin demolishing a parapet, and afterwards sev- 
eral other parts of the dungeon. 

Apprised of this popular movement, Lafayette 
goes at once to Vincennes, with a detachment of the 
National Guard. In the Faubourg Saint Antoine 
the people show hostile dispositions, and three battal- 
ions of this faubourg refuse to march. But the com- 
mander of the battalion of the Capuchins of the 
Marais, followed by a large number of volunteers, 
penetrates to the dungeon, and puts a stop to the 
demolition. Sixty-four rioters, who resist, are ar- 
rested. 

On returning from the expedition, which has 
lasted until night, some men, lurking in the Vin- 
cennes forest, fire several shots at Lafayette's aide- 
de-camp, mistaking him for the general. Arrived 
at the Barridre du Tr6ne, the National Guards find 
the gate closed, and the inhabitants of the faubourg 
refuse to open it. The cavalry, supported by infantry 
and twelve pieces of artillery, are obliged to intervene 
in order to vindicate the law and conduct the prison- 
ers to the H6tel de Ville. 

The session of the National Assembly has been 
more stormy than usual on this day, and Mirabeau 
has resisted the tempest with supreme energy. In 
spite of all clamor, he has opposed a law they are 
seeking to enact against emigration. " This popu- 
larity of mine," he had cried in his voice of thunder, 



THE KNIGHTS OF THE PONIARD. 89 

" this popularity which I have aspired to and enjoyed 
like any other man, is not a feeble reed. I will bed it 
deep in the ground, and I will make it germinate on 
the soil of justice and reason. ... I swear — if an 
emigration law is passed — I swear to disobey it. . . . 
I beg those who interrupt me to remember that I 
have resisted tyranny all my life, and that I will 
resist it wherever it may be established." 

The day is full of agitation. While the rioters are 
seeking to demolish the dungeon of Vincennes, and 
Mirabeau is in the tribune, the Palace of the Tuileries 
becomes a prey to the keenest anguish. It is rumored 
that an insurrection is organizing and that it will vio- 
late the sanctuary of the monarchy. Several noble- 
men, carrying arms under their coats, come spon- 
taneously to the palace in order to defend the royal 
family. They penetrate even to the King's apart- 
ments, and Louis XVI. comes out to see them. 
"Sire," say they, "your nobles hasten to surround 
your sacred person." The sovereign moderates their 
zeal and replies that he is in safety. 

At the same time the heads of the revolutionists 
are getting overheated. The nobles who had come 
to the palace through a chivalrous impulse are stig- 
matized as conspirators whose intention is to assas- 
sinate the National Guards. Lafayette, coming back 
from Vincennes, goes to the palace, where he finds 
great excitement. There has just been a brawl. 
The National Guards on duty have insulted the 
nobles, some of whom have been struck, and even 



90 MARIE ANTOINETTE. 

wounded. Some have been sent flying at the butt 
end of a musket, some trodden under foot, others 
rolled in the mud. The Duke of Pienne and Count 
Alexandre de Tilly are among the most badly treated. 
Some have opposed an energetic resistance, notably 
the Marquis of Chabert, chief of squadron, and the 
Marquis of Beauharnais, a member of the National 
Assembly. Louis XVI. has requested his adherents 
to lay down their arms. Lafayette orders them to 
do so. The nobles tremblingly deposit their weap- 
ons on two large tables in the King's ante-chamber. 
They are afterwards taken to the quarters of M. de 
Gouvion, who lodges in one of the courts of the 
palace. 

The next day, Lafayette has an account of the 
affair posted up. MM. de Duras and de Villequier, 
first gentlemen of the chamber, who had authorized 
the introduction of these so-called conspirators into 
the palace, are described in this account as head- 
servants. They hand in their resignations and leave 
France. Among the people, the evening of February 
28 becomes the subject of numberless comments. By 
all accounts, the Knights of the Poniard, which is 
the new name given to the King's adherents, intended 
nothing less than a Saint Bartholomew's day against 
the patriots. 

The Moniteur had at first published a succinct 
account of the incident. March 5, it published the 
following declaration of dissent addressed it by a 
National Guard : " You are making game of your 



THE KNIGHTS OF THE PONIARD. 91 

subscribers in giving them your fiat and unfaithful 
account of what happened at the Tuileries on the 
evening of February 28. What ! when seven or eight 
hundred assassins, ex-chevaliers, viscounts, barons, 
dukes, and marquises surround the throne, armed 
with pistols, dirks, and poniards, in order to take by 
surprise the National Guards, whom they have caused 
to be assailed from another quarter by a troop of 
maddened people ; when this horde of brigands is 
joined by a crowd of hired assassins, who do not own 
to being hired, you say coldly, 'Several private per-, 
sons armed with pistols.' Several? They came in 
hundreds. I saw them ! Private persons ? What 
private persons except all the ci-devant f Armed 
with pistols? And with poniards, and dirks, and 
with all those infernal machines which we tore away 
from them, and to which not even a name can be 
given, so much have those who invented them refined 
upon the villainy of their predecessors in this infa- 
mous career ! " 

It was by such fables that popular imagination 
was disquieted, and the greatest catastrophes pre- 
pared. The nobles had no longer a right to defend 
their sovereign, and Louis XVI., mortified by the 
affront inflicted on his adherents in his presence, fell 
ill with chagrin. In the tribune, Mirabeau uttered 
reactionist speeches. But the monarchy was almost 
dead, and Mirabeau was about to die. 



XII. 



THE DEATH OF MIRABEAU. 

" "yN these stormy times when we, so prodigal of life, 
_JL see our days glide by so fast and end so quickly, 
exhausted by labor and the passions still more than 
threatened by ill-will, it would seem that the conso- 
lations of philosophy can no longer satisfy us. . . . 
If death comes too soon, it is so especially for those 
who have posterity in view, who eternalize the mem- 
ory of their names by their actions or their works, 
and whom death always interrupts in the midst of 
some enterprise, to the great loss of the public who 
reckon it to their memory which they honor still 
more by reverence and regret." 

These plaintive lines, written by Mirabeau on the 
occasion of the premature death of one of his friends, 
apply still more exactly to his own. He, above all 
men, was " prodigal of life." One might say that, 
foreboding the brevity of his career, he desired to 
multiply and concentrate within a few years, a few 
weeks, the greatest possible sum of emotions, fatigues, 
joys, struggles, and triumphs. Devoured by an activ- 
ity which was like a fever, avid of gold, of pleasure, 
92 



THE DEATH OF MIBABEAU. 93 

and of glory, intoxicated with popularity parched 
by the myriad fires which consumed his mind and 
heart, he descended the fatal slope with the rapidity 
of madness. His fate was that of most men who 
desire at the same time both work and pleasure. For 
them pleasure soon turns into fatigue and suffering ; 
but when their vices desert them, they will not desert 
their vices. Enemies of their own repose, they per- 
secute and lay snares to entrap themselves. They 
kill the body; if they could, they would kill the 
soul. A violent excitement, comparable to the last 
impulsion of a broken engine, gives them for a little 
while a factitious energy. A lingering habit inter- 
ests them in worldly affairs, of which, nevertheless, 
they already understand the emptiness, the inanity. 

Such was the great Mirabeau. It was not without 
bitterness that he saw rising before him a power 
stronger than his genius, than his eloquence — Death! 
He suffered because of his interrupted task, because 
of the evil he had done, and the good which he could 
no longer do. In spite of all the echoes which re- 
peated the accents of his incomparable voice, in spite 
of his numberless flatterers, in spite of his prodigious 
renown, he felt that he needed rehabilitation, if not 
in the eyes of the crowd, at least in his own. He said 
to himself, as Andr^ Chdnier was to say one day, — 

" To die without emptying my quiver, 
Without piercing, without crushing, without kneading in their 
filth. 
These brutal bungling laws ! " 



94 MABIE ANTOINETTE. 

This giant suffered because he must disappear and 
leave none but pygmies behind him. The great 
wrestler, torn from the arena, regretted the emotions 
of the amphitheatre. As citizen, as artist, and as 
patriot, he had whereof to complain. So much force, 
so much eloquence, so much hope, so many schemes,' 
all to be extinguished with a breath ! The great 
man beheld himself dying with I know not what 
melancholy curiosity, and he mourned for his coun- 
try more than for himself. His death struggle, like 
his talent, was to be grandiose, pathetic, theatrical. 
His life, his death, his obsequies, were alike extraor- 
dinary. In reality, he had shone for twenty-two 
months only. He was forty when he achieved popu- 
larity, and twenty-two months had sufficed him to 
make a name which places him in history at the side 
of Cicero and Demosthenes. 

It was at the moment when he was about to go 
down into the tomb that he exerted the most irre- 
sistible influence over the Assembly. His voice, 
even when he uttered but a single word from his 
bench, had a formidable accent. A nod was suffi- 
cient to rule his friends and intimidate his foes. 
When, turning toward the Barnaves and the Lameths, 
he shouted, " Silence, those votes ! " the vanquished 
and trembling opposition held their peace ; but Death, 
which makes game of all projects and all glories, 
was about to say to the conqueror, " Thou shalt 
go no further ! " It was when he was most laden 
with crowns that the victor felt himself stagger 



THE DEATH OF MIBABEAU. 95 

and fall. The excess of his emotions had slain him. 
His head grew heavy, and his gait sluggish. A mel- 
ancholy, not habitual with him, oppressed all his 
being. He had sudden fainting fits. He tried in 
vain to arrest the malady by baths containing corro- 
sive sublimate in solution. They had no effect other 
than to give him a greenish tint which was attri- 
buted to poison. Instead of taking precautions, he 
abused his strength to the very end. An orgy at the 
house of an opera dancer gave the final blow, and on 
March 28, 1791, he took to his bed, never to rise 
again. 

The excitement in Paris was immense. A vast 
multitude surrounded the house of the sick man in 
the rue Chauss^e d'Antin. Bulletins of his condition 
were transmitted from mouth to mouth to the very 
extremities of Paris. His principal adversary. Bar- 
nave, came at the head of a deputation of Jacobins 
to get tidings of him. Mirabeau loved life, and 
struggled against death with all the energy of his 
powerful nature. " You are a great doctor," he said 
to Cabanis, " but there is a greater one than you : 
He who made the wind which overthrows all things, 
the water which penetrates and fecundates all, the 
fire which quickens all " ; and he still hoped that this 
Great Physician would work a miracle and save him. 
In spite of intolerable pains, he continued to be inter- 
ested in what went on in the Assembly. Knowing 
that a law concerning the right to devise property 
had been put on the order of the day, he told Talley- 



96 MABIE ANTOINETTE. 

rand that he had a speech on the subject already 
prepared, and asked him to read it from the tribune. 
" It will be amusing," he added, " to listen to what a 
man who made his will the day before, has to say 
against the capacity to make one." 

He occupied himself with foreign affairs also. 
" Pitt," said he, " is the minister of preparatives ; 
he governs by his threats more than by his deeds. 
If I were to live, I think I should give him some 
annoyance." Even in his death-agony he had mo- 
ments of jDi'ide. He said to his servant, "Support 
this head, the most powerful one in France." Flat- 
tered by the multitude of persons who thronged 
about him, he exclaimed : " See all these people who 
surround me; they wait on me like servants, and 
they are my friends ; it is permissible to love life 
and to regret it, when one leaves such wealth behind 
him." On the day of his death, April 2, he had the 
windows thrown open, and addressing Cabanis, he 
said: "My friend, I shall die to-day. When one 
comes to that, there is but one thing remaining, and 
that is to perfume one's self, to be crowned with 
flowers and environed with music, so as to enter as 
agreeably as possible into the slumber from which 
one wakes no more. Give me your word that you 
will not let me suffer useless pains. ... I want to 
enjoy without admixture the presence of all that is 
dear to me." 

Some minutes later, he said bitterly, "My heart 
is full of grief for the monarchy whose ruins will 



THE DEATH OF MIBABEAU. 97 

become the prey of the seditious." Then speech 
failed him. He made signs for a pen which was 
near his bed, and with his failing hand wrote the 
word : " Sleep." Cabanis pretended not to under- 
stand him. Mirabeau resumed the pen, and added 
this line : " Can a man leave his friend dying on the 
rack for, it may be, several days? " Cabanis assured 
the sick man that his desire should be complied with, 
and began writing the prescription for an anodyne. 
Impatient, Mirabeau cried with a last effort, "Are 
you going to deceive me?" — "No, friend, no," 
answered M. de la Marck; "the remedy is coming; 
we all saw it ordered." " Ah I the doctors ! " con- 
tinued the dying man. "Did you not promise to 
spare me the agonies of such a death ? Do you want 
me to regret having confided in you?" And he 
expired. 

The Assembly adjourned on receiving the news. 
General mourning was prescribed, and preparations 
made for a magnificent funeral. The Assembly 
decreed that the Church of Saint Genevieve, trans- 
formed into the French Pantheon, should in future 
receive the remains of great men, and have these 
words graven on its pediment: "To its great men, 
the grateful country." It was decided at the same 
time tliat Mirabeau's body should lie beside that of 
Descartes in this new Pantheon. It was an apotheo- 
sis. For three days nothing was talked of but the 
celebrated defunct. The people tore down the name 
of the rue Chauss^e d'Antin, where he had lived, and 



MARIE ANTOINETTE. 



in its place wrote rue Mirabeau. M. de la Place, the 
dean of the men of letters, entering a restaurant in 
the Palais Royal, a waiter said to him, " Monsieur de 
la Place, the weather is very fine to-day." — " Yes, my 
friend, the weather is very fine; but Mirabeau is 
dead." Revolutionists and aristocrats joined in ex- 
tolling his glory. Like Homer, over whom seven 
cities disputed the honor of having been his birth- 
place, both parties claimed the great orator for their 
own. '' The day after he died," says Camille Desmou- 
lins, "I thought they were going to make a saint of 
him in good earnest." The Gazette Universelle re- 
lated that he had not seen his parish priest ; but that 
at two different times he had spent more than half 
an hour with the Bishop of Lyons, Mgr. Lamourette. 
He was regretted by the Jacobins, and also at the 
Tuileries. The Revolution had lost its favorite, and 
the court believed it had lost its saviour. 

Louis XVI. and Marie Antoinette were in deep 
affliction. Madame Elisabeth alone judged the dead 
man with severity. April 3, 1791, she wrote to the 
Marquise de Bombelles : " Mirabeau died yesterday 
morning. His arrival in the other world must have 
been extremely painful. They say he saw his parish 
priest for an hour. I am very sorry for his unhappy 
sister, who is very pious and who loved him madly. 
The politicians say this death is to be regretted ; for 
my part, I wait before deciding." Absorbed by the 
thought of this death as by a fixed idea, she wrote 
the same day to another of her friends, Madame de 



THE DEATH OF MIRABEAU. 99 

Raigecourt : " Mirabeau concluded to go into the 
other world, to see whether the Revolution is ap- 
proved there. Good God! what an awakening he 
must have had ! Many persons are disturbed about 
it. The aristocrats regret him deeply. For the last 
three months he has taken the right side, and they 
hoped much from his talents. For my part, although 
very aristocratic, I cannot but regard his death as 
providential for the kingdom. I do not believe that 
it is by men without principles or morals that God 
wills to save us. I keep this opinion to myself, 
because it is not politic; but I like those who are 
religious better." 

The multitude, however, continued to extol the 
dead man as if he were a demigod. His coffin was 
completely hidden under a shower of garlands. The 
Society of the Friends of the Constitution resolved 
to wear mourning for eight days, and to resume it 
annually on April 2, and to have a marble bust of 
him executed, on the pedestal of which should be 
inscribed the celebrated saying : " Go and tell those 
who sent you that we are here by the will of the 
people, and that we will not depart save by force of 
bayonets." 

It was related that, during the illness of the 
deceased, a youth came to offer the transfusion of 
his blood to rejuvenate and freshen that of the sick 
man. People said also that his secretary, who had 
several times drawn the sword in his defence, was 
unwilling to survive him, and was going to cut his 



100 MAEIE ANTOINETTE. 

throat. On the day of the funeral, Monday, April 4, 
some fashionable society women were complaining of 
the dust, and saying that the municipality would 
have done well to have the boulevard sprinkled. 
" They counted on our tears" responded a fishwoman. 

Never was there a ceremony more grandiose or 
lugubrious. The procession began to form at five in 
the evening. A detachment of the National Guard 
cavalry opened the march. Then came a deputation 
from the Invalides chosen from among the veterans 
most severely mutilated; Lafayette and his staff; a 
deputation from the sixty battalions; the Hundred- 
Swiss ; the provost guards ; the military band playing 
funereal music, and with its drums muffled in black 
crape. The clergy preceded the corpse. It was at 
first intended to put the coffin in a hearse, but the 
battalion of La Grange Bateli^re, 'which Mirabeau 
had commanded, asked and obtained the honor of 
carrying it with their own arms. A civic crown 
was substituted for the feudal insignia, the count's 
coronet, and the coat-of-arms. Behind the body 
walked the whole National Assembly, escorted by 
the battalion of veterans and that of the children. 
Then came the magistrates and all the clubs. 

The procession, which was three miles long, 
marched slowly between two ranks of National 
Guards. It took three hours to reach Saint Eustache. 
At the moment of removing the corpse, twenty thou- 
sand men fired a simultaneous discharge. The win- 
dows were broken. It aeemed as though the church 



THE DEATH OF MIBABEAU. 101 

was going to fall in upon the coffin. After the office 
for the dead, the line of march was resumed again 
in the direction of the Pantheon. It was midnight 
when they reached it. The torches shone amid the 
gloom like so many unreal, fantastic lights. Mira- 
beau's body was placed in the same vault as that of 
Descartes. Then the crowds dispersed, and nothing 
troubled any longer the calmness of the night. 

And now let us leave the word to Camille Des- 
moulins, who has described this great funereal pomp. 
In number 72 of his RSvolutions de France et de 
Brahant^ he writes : " Admiration was felt on all 
sides, and sorrow nowhere. The honors due to Mira- 
beau's genius were paid him ; but those which belong 
only to virtue cannot be usurped. There was a hun- 
dred times more grief at Loustalot's lonely funeral 
than in this league-long procession. One must tell 
the truth. This ceremony was more like the trans- 
lation of Voltaire, of a great man who had been dead 
ten years, than that of one recently deceased. The 
refusal of a single man, a Cato or a Potion, to be 
present at his funeral or wear mourning for him, 
does more injury to his memory than four hundred 
thousand spectators can do it honor. How many 
say to themselves at the sight of so much homage : 
Mind and talent, then, are all. And thou. Virtue, 
since thou art but a phantom, Brutus may thrust 
himself through with his own sword, and the victory 
of the Caesar is assured ! " 

Yes, it is Ceesar who will triumph, the unknown 



102 MAitlE ANTOINETTE. 

Csesar, Csesar the Corsican. O foresight of this 
world, of how little account are you! O vaunted 
geniuses, great politicians, great orators, great states- 
men, what can you do against the mysterious future ? 
How brief you are, O human wisdom, and how blind, 
and how little even the eloquence of a Mirabeau 
weighs in the balances of Fate ! 



XIII. 

THE EELIGIOUS QUESTION. 

SOCIETIES which appear the most incredulous 
are often those where religious questions most 
divide and inflame men's minds. The revolutionary 
and Voltairian Paris of 1791 occupied itself with 
theology in a sort of fury. Both in the salons and 
the faubourgs, the chief preoccupation was to know 
what would be the result of the civil constitution of 
the clergy. One might have supposed that the des- 
tiny of France and the fate of all Frenchmen de- 
pended on whether the clergy would or would not 
take the oath. Never had any subject of controversy 
excited on either side more bitterness and anger. 

At the time when Mirabeau died, the struggle had 
entered upon its most violent period. Anti-religious 
leaflets were distributed to men gifted with sonorous 
voices and a certain talent for declamation, who 
harangued the people with them in every public 
place. Some of them were dialogues in which odious 
and ridiculous remarks were made by the pretended 
friends of the clergy. There were also obscene stories 
and filthy tales about monks and nuns. On the quays 

103 



104 MARIE ANTOINETTE. 

and boulevards, and in all the public places, cari- 
catures were strewn in profusion, either represent- 
ing priests and nuns in indecent postures, or prel- 
ates from whose monstrous stomachs peasants were 
squeezing out stacks of golden coins. 

In the other camp, by the side of sincerely religious 
persons, might be seen women who had lost their 
reputation, philosophers, encyclopaedists, sometimes 
even atheists, who had suddenly become missionaries, 
theologians, and ardent defenders of the purity and 
integrity of the Roman Catholic faith. 

Ever since August 24, 1790, the heart of Louis XVI. 
had been torn by remorse, a torture he had never 
known before. On that day, against the protest of 
his conscience, he had granted his royal sanction to 
the civil constitution of the clergy. The eldest son 
of the Church, the most Christian King, the sovereign 
consecrated at Rheims, the successor of Charlemagne 
and Saint Louis, shuddered with anguish when he 
laid his hand upon the sacred ark. By force of votes, 
the national had beaten down the religious edifice. 
The clergy no longer had an existence as a political 
body. 

The sale of ecclesiastical property was decreed, 
and the perpetuity of religious vows annulled. The 
priests, transformed into mere functionaries, received 
their salaries from the State. The covenant which 
had for centuries united France to the Holy See was 
broken. The Pope's authority had no longer any 
weight in the balance. Each territorial department 



THE RELIGIOUS QUESTION, 105 

formed a diocese, and every ecclesiastical boundary 
not corresponding with a civil one was abolished. 
Appointments to livings and to episcopal sees were 
to be made by lay voters, without any thought of 
applying to Rome to sanction their proceedings. All 
acts of a civil nature passed out of the hands of the 
clergy into those of the municipalities. 

The priests were obliged to swear fidelity to the 
new Constitution, which was condemned by the Pope ; 
those among them who possessed no private means 
had only the alternative of ruin or apostasy. About 
a hundred ecclesiastical members of the National As- 
sembly, among them two prelates, Talleyrand, Bishop 
of Autun, and Gobel, Bishop of Lydda, took the oath. 
All the rest refused it. The entire episcopate, with 
the exception of these two sworn bishops, protested 
in the most energetic terms. Religious anarchy soon 
reached its height. There was civil war in every 
parish. The partisans of the Revolution threatened 
with the direst punishments those priests who obeyed 
the Vatican instead of the Constituent Assembly. 

The partisans of reaction said that the Pope was 
about to launch his thunders against a sacrilegious 
Assembly and the apostate priests ; that the people in 
country places, deprived of the sacraments, would rise 
en masse ; that foreign armies would enter France ; 
and that in the twinkling of an eye the edifice of 
iniquity would crumble. The unsworn bishops issued 
charges in which they affirmed that they would not 
retire from their sees unless constrained by force. 



106 MARIE ANTOINETTE. 

They added that they would hire houses in which to 
continue their episcopal functions, and bade the faith- 
ful to have recourse only to them. The only subject 
of conversation was religion. The clubs were occupied 
with nothing but the Church. The same individuals 
who, two years later, were to dance in rings around the 
scaffolds of the priests, now had no other idea than 
to find out what the priest would be who should say 
Mass in such or such parish. From the King to the 
Jacobins, from the Queen and Madame Elisabeth to 
the future furies . of the guillotine, there was not a 
soul who was not passionately interested in this burn- 
ing question. It was the cause of all quarrels, the 
great aliment of discord. In the same family were 
to be encountered the two camps waging war to the 
knife. 

General Lafayette was on the side of the priests 
who had taken, the oath. His wife remained faithful 
to the others. Madame de Lasteyrie, in her Vie de 
Madame de Lafayette, whose daughter she was, says : 
" The civil constitution of the clergy was a subject 
of great tribulation to my mother. She thought it 
her duty, precisely on account of her personal situa- 
tion, to show her attachment to the Catholic cause. 
She was present, consequently, at the refusal to take 
the oath which her parish priest, the Curd of Saint 
Sulpice, made from the pulpit. She found herself 
there in company with those best known by their 
aristocracy. She repaired assiduously to the churches, 
and afterwards to the oratories where the persecuted 



THE BELIGIOUS QUESTION. 107 

clergy took shelter. She continually received the 
nuns who complained and sought protection, as well 
as the priests who refused the oath, whom she encour- 
aged to exercise their functions, and to assert the 
freedom of worship. My father often entertained at 
dinner the ecclesiastics of the constitutional clergy. 
My mother professed in their presence her attach- 
ment to the cause of the former bishops." 

Even in the house of the commander of the Na- 
tional Guard — of Lafayette, the liberal man par 
excellence — the cause of the Roman Church had 
ardent supporters. Mirabeau, — Mirabeau himself, 
— who pretended to support the civil constitution 
of the clergy, was, in the forum of conscience, its 
adversary. He beheld in it, and not without a 
secret pleasure, a sort of trap which the enemies 
of the throne and the altar were laying for them- 
selves. In the tribune he hurled invectives at the 
priests who remained faithful to the doctrines of 
Rome, and said to them that " if the Church fell into 
ruins, it was to them should be attributed the cause." 
And the same man who used this language wrote to 
Count de la Marck, January 5, 1791; " The Assembly 
is done for. Not a single oath was taken yesterday, 
and if the Assembly thinks that the resignation of 
twenty thousand parish priests will produce no effect 
in the kingdom, it looks through strange spectacles." 
In his 43d note for the court he thus insists on the 
advantage which should accrue to the royal cause 
from the decree against the clergy : " A more favor- 



108 MABIE ANTOINETTE, 

able opportunity could not be found to league to- 
gether a great number of malcontents of the most 
dangerous sort, and to augment the popularity of the 
King at the expense of that of- the National Assem- 
bly. To do this, it will be necessary to induce the 
greatest possible number of ecclesiastics to refuse the 
oath, and the active members of the parishes who are 
attached to their pastors to object to re-elections ; to 
provoke the National Assembly to violent measures 
against these parishes ; to present at the same time 
all manner of decrees relative to religion, and espe- 
cially to discuss the condition of the Jews in Alsace, 
the marriage of priests, and divorce, so that the fire 
may not go out for want of combustible materials." 
So Mirabeau, the great tribune, the idol of the de- 
mocracy, the immortal revolutionist, was, if not pub- 
licly, at least in the depths of his soul, a clerical ! 

If such were the sentiments of Mirabeau, what 
must not have been those of Louis XVI. and his 
family? Madame Elisabeth, who set at defiance so 
many persecutions, dreaded the religious one. Her 
correspondence betrays, in almost every line, her 
anguish as a Christian. Resolved, if need were, 
to brave martyrdom, she was absolutely resolved 
to hold her own against all the world, and even 
against the King himself, if that were necessary, 
in order to obey the voice of her conscience. She 
wrote to Madame de Bombelles, November 28, 
1790 : " How can one desire that Heaven should 
cease to be angry with us, when we take pleasure in 



THE BELIGIOUS QUESTION. 109 

constantly provoking it ? Let us try, at least, dear 
heart, to efface some of the offences daily committed 
by our fidelity in serving God. Let us remember 
that He is far more grieved than angry. It depends 
on us to console Him. Ah ! how this thought 
should animate the fervor of souls so happy as to 
possess the faith ! Make your little children pray. God 
has told us that their prayers are pleasing to Him." 

January T, 1791, the pious Princess wrote to Madame 
de Raigecourt: "I have no inclination for martyr- 
dom ; but I feel that I would be very glad to have 
the certainty of suffering it, rather than abandon the 
least article of my faith. I hope that if I am destined 
for it, God will grant me the needful strength. He 
is so good, so good ! " And on February 7, to Madame 
de Bombelles : " Ah ! if we have sinned, God is pun- 
ishing us well ! Happy he who receives this trial in 
the spirit of penitence ! We must thank God for 
the courage He is giving to the clergy. Every day 
we hear new instances of it." March 21, she wrote 
to Madame de Raigecourt: "We are in terrible 
anguish. The Pope's brief will presently appear, 
and the real persecution will begin soon afterwards. 
This prospect is not of the most agreeable descrip- 
tion. But as we have always been told we ought to 
will what God wills, we must rejoice. In fact, when 
we know just what we have to do, it will be much 
easier, because then we shall no longer be obliged 
to use circumspection with anybody. When God 
speaks, a Catholic hears only His voice." 



110 MABIE ANTOINETTE. 

At bottom the sentiments of Louis XVI. were the 
same as his sister's. The Pope had written him, 
July 10, 1790 : "Even if you were disposed to resign 
the rights inherent in the royal prerogatives, you 
have not the right to alienate in the least, nor to 
abandon, what belongs to God and to the Church, 
of which you are the eldest son." This letter from 
the Holy Father had profoundly impressed the King. 
He who had suffered with so much patience the 
attacks on his dignity as a prince, his liberty as a 
man, and his prerogatives as a monarch, was unable 
to resign himself to the pangs he suffered as a Catho- 
lic. In order to constrain him to sanction the civil 
constitution of the clergy, it had been necessary to 
assure him that public safety imperiously demanded 
this sacrifice, without which both priests and nobles 
would be massacred. It is easy to comprehend what 
must have passed in the heart of this pre-eminently 
devout sovereign, this monarch who was above all 
things religious, and who valued his title to the 
name of Christian far more than to that of King. 

April 3, 1791, the pealing of bells announced the 
installation of the cur^s who had taken oath to the 
new Constitution. Madame Elisabeth wrote : " The 
intended cures were established this morning. I 
have heard all the bells of Saint Roch. I cannot 
conceal from you that it has caused me frightful 
grief." Louis XVI. did not lament it less than his 
sister. The bells had a funereal accent in his ears. 
The thing was done. The unfortunate monarch never 



THE RELIGIOUS QUESTION. Ill 

experienced another instant of moral repose. What 
anxieties ! What sleepless nights ! What remorse ! 
The royal martyr wrote in his will these sorrowful 
lines: "Not being able to obtain the services of a 
Catholic priest, I pray God to receive the confession 
I have made to Him, and above all my profound 
repentance for having signed my name (although it 
was against my will) to acts which might be con- 
trary to the discipline and the faith of the Catholic 
Church, to which I have ever remained sincerely 
united at heart." 

This poignant regret was for Louis XVI. the most 
grievous of his tortures. "Cursed forever," cries 
Joseph de Maistre in his ultramontane ardor, " be the 
infamous faction which, profiting shamelessly by the 
misfortunes of the monarchy, seized brutally a sacred 
hand and forced it to sign what it abhorred ! If this 
hand, about to be hidden in the tomb, felt it a duty 
to write the solemn testimony of a profound repent- 
ance, may the sublime confession, consigned to an 
immortal testament, recoil like an overwhelming 
load, like an eternal anathema, upon the guilty party 
which made it seem necessary in the eyes of this 
august innocence, inexorable only towards itself, 
amidst the respect of the universe." 



XIV. 

THE HOLY WEEK OF 1791. 

HOLY WEEK in 1791 was to redouble the 
religious anguish of Louis XVI. The unfor- 
tunate monarch felt the contrast between the troubled 
present and those happy bygone days when neither 
his dignity as a king nor his conscience as a Chris- 
tian had anything to suffer; when he enjoyed that 
supreme good, peace of mind, and when the cere- 
monies of the Church and the chants of the liturgy, 
instead of causing him anxiety, and even remorse, 
gave him only joy and consolation. He regretted 
his beloved chapel at Versailles, and the harmony 
which formerly existed between throne and altar, 
both equally threatened now. He sought for the 
priests of former time, and lost himself, as it were, 
in an abyss of cares. The offices of the Church 
reminded him of his dismal situation. The Crown of 
Thorns made him think of his own diadem. Might 
not this King, whose palace had become a prison, 
apply to himself the words which are said in the 
Mass of Palm Sunday, after the gradual : " My God ! 
my God ! cast thine eyes upon me ! Why hast Thou 

112 



TRE HOLY WEEK OF 1791. 113 

abandoned me? My God, I will cry unto Thee in 
the day time, and Thou wilt not listen. I will cry 
in the night time, and Thou wilt keep silence. All 
those who behold me deride me. They wag their 
heads while they say : He put his confidence in tlie 
Lord. Let the Lord deliver him and save him ! " 

The week began badly. Palm Sunday was a day 
of anxiety and trouble. Alas ! the truce of God no 
longer existed, even during Holy Week. Discord 
gave itself not a moment's rest. The Church of the 
Thdatins, which the Catholics had hired from the 
municipality in order that divine service might be 
celebrated there by priests faithful to Rome, was 
invaded by people who flogged a young girl, and 
fastened two brooms crosswise over the door, with 
an inscription describing the chastisement prepared 
for any priest or other person who should dare to 
enter the church. Bailly, the mayor, had the brooms 
and the inscription removed, but he could not dis- 
perse the crowd. The populace remained in front of 
the church until six o'clock, ready to assault any one 
who might attempt to go inside. The same commo- 
tion was shown in the royal chapel of the Tuileries. 
There a grenadier of the National Guard declaimed 
furiously against the recusant priests who still ap- 
proached Louis XVI. Li the evening, incendiary 
speeches were made all over Paris. 

The King, who was recovering from a rather seri- 
ous illness, had intended to go on Monday to Saint 
Cloud so as to enjoy a week's repose and perform 



114 MABIE ANTOINETTE. 

his religious duties with tranquillity. Lafayette and 
Bailly had been the first to advise this step. More- 
over, it would give him an occasion to find out just 
what his situation was, and whether he, who had 
given freedom to his dominions, was himself a free 
man. The event convinced him that he was a slave. 
A rumor got about among the crowd that this jour- 
ney concealed counter-revolutionary ideas. The 
King, it was said, had refractory priests hidden in 
his palace, and secretly received communion from 
their hands, instead of going to his parish church, 
Saint Germain-l'Auxerrois. The leaders added that 
the Bois de Boulogne was full of men wearing white 
cockades, and that three thousand aristocrats were 
preparing to abduct the King, who would be among 
the Austrians within a fortnight. Journalists wrote : 
" Patriots, to arms ! . . . The mouth of kings is a 
den of lies. ... A fury hatches her brood of ser- 
pents in the breast of Louis XVI. . . . King, you 
are departing, you are going to put yourself at the 
head of an Austrian army. But you are too late in 
setting about it. We know you, great restorer of 
liberty. To-day your mask falls off, but to-morrow 
it will be your crown." 

On Monday in Holy Week, April 18, at eleven in 
the morning, the King, with his wife and children 
and his sister, entered a carriage in the courtyard of 
the Tuileries, with the intention of going to Saint 
Cloud. The nobles who were to follow him were 
the Prince of Poix, captain of the Guards ; the Duke 



THE HOLY WEEK OF 1791. 115 

of Brissac, captain of the Hundred-Swiss ; the Mar- 
quis of Duras and the Duke of Villequier, First 
Gentlemen of the Chamber; and the Marquis of 
Briges, equerry. As the King was stepping into the 
carriage, Cardinal de Montmorency-Laval appeared 
for an instant at one of the palace windows. Some 
of the National Guards at once took aim at him, and 
he had barely time to get out of sight. At the same 
time, other guards precipitated themselves upon the 
royal carriage with shouts and menaces, pointing 
bayonets at the breasts of the horses, and declaring 
that neither Louis XVI. nor his family should leave 
the Tuileries. "It would be astonishing," said the 
King, putting his head through the carriage door, 
" if, after giving liberty to the nation, I were not to 
be free myself." 

Lafayette, who was present at this scandalous 
scene, made great efforts to get the carriage started, 
but in vain. Harangues, threats, commands, and 
prayers were alike useless. " Hold your tongue ! " 
cried some one ; " the King shall not go away." — " He 
shall go," returned the general; "he shall go if I 
have to use force and cause bloodshed." But the 
resistance continued, and force was not employed. 
During this strange dialogue, the Marquis of Duras, 
who had left his carriage, was standing at the door of 
the one occupied by the King. A grenadier of the 
National Guard forced him away from it. At this, 
the Dauphin, who until then had shown no fear, 
began to cry, and Louis XVI. was obliged to inter- 



116 MABIE ANTOINETTE. 

pose in order to save M. de Duras from further ill- 
treatment. After fresh efforts, as unsuccessful as 
those which preceded them, Lafayette told the King 
that he could not depart without danger. The 
wretched Prince cried three different times: "They 
are unwilling then to let me go ? . . . Is it impos- 
sible, then, for me to go? . . . Very well! I am 
going to stay." 

The dispute had lasted about two hours, during 
which the grossest insults had been incessantly re- 
peated. Unwilling either to set one division of the 
National Guards against another, or to soil the thresh- 
old of the Tuileries with blood, Louis XVI. left the 
carriage and returned with his family to his apart- 
ments. There he found his brother, the Count of 
Provence, and, pressing his hand tenderly, he recited, 
not without melancholy, Horace's line : — 

" Beatus ille qui procul negotiis ! " 

Shortly afterwards, some National Guards and com- 
mon people entered the palace, and searched the 
apartments, the granaries, the courtyards, and the 
carriages, under pretext of discovering the refractory 
priests said to be hidden there. 

After what had passed on this Monday, no doubt 
was left in any mind that royalty no longer existed 
save in name. Never had Louis XVI. sounded so 
thoroughly the depths of his humiliation. He was 
unwilling that even his faithful adherents should 
longer share his bitterness, and he sent away a num- 



THE HOLT WEEK OF 1791. 117 

ber of them, that they might escape the insults that 
were crushing him. He asked the ecclesiastics who 
officiated in his chapel to depart. These were the 
Cardinal de Montmorency-Laval, Grand Almoner to 
the Crown; Mgr. de Roquelaure, Bishop of Senlis, 
First Almoner to the King; and Mgr. de Sabran, 
Bishop of Laon, First Almoner to the Queen. The 
Duke of Yillequier and the Marquis of Duras, First 
Gentlemen of the Chamber, also received orders to 
leave. Marie Antoinette, knoAving that her maid of 
honor, the Princess of Chimay, a model of piety and 
virtue, was daily threatened and insulted, dismissed 
her, replacing her as Lady of the Bedchamber by the 
Countess of Ossun, who was fated to perish on the 
scaffold, a victim to her devotion. 

The day was spent in preparations for departure. 
The King and Queen suffered profoundly in seeing 
their most faithful adherents leave them, and the 
little Dauphin, speaking of the revolutionists, ex- 
claimed sadly, " How wicked all these people are to 
give so much pain to papa, who is so good 1 " 

On Holy Thursday, April 21, Madame Elisabeth 
wrote to Madame de Bombelles : "I will not give 
you the details of Monday. I own that I do not 
know them yet. All I know is that the King wished 
to go to Saint Cloud, and that he got into his carriage, 
where he remained two hours; that the National 
Guards and the people obstructed his passage, and 
that he was obliged to remain. ... I write in haste 
because I am dressing to go to church, since they are 



118 MARIE ANTOINETTE. 

still so obliging as to permit us to do so. Adieu; be- 
lieve that I will always be worthy of the affection of 
those who desire to esteem me, and that, whatever 
may happen, I will live and die without having any- 
thing to reproach myself with before God and men." 

This calmness and strength which are given by 
peace of conscience, Louis XVI. no longer shared. 
He was about to be forced to what he considered dis- 
honor as well as humiliation — to be present on Easter 
Sunday, at a Mass said in the Church of Saint Ger- 
main-l'Auxerrois by the intruding cure, a revolu- 
tionary priest. Madame Elisabeth could not believe 
that her brother would do this. On Holy Saturday 
she wrote to Madame de Raigecourt : " It is said in 
Paris that the King is going to-morrow to High Mass 
in the parish church. I shall not be able to believe 
it until after he has been there. All-powerful God, 
what just punishment dost thou reserve for a people 
gone so far astray?" 

The unhappy King, ashamed of this last concession, 
sought means to escape from a situation he found 
intolerable. Beginning that series of subterfuges 
which tarnishes the lustre of his name, and which 
a more distinct and energetic attitude would have 
spared him, he thought himself obliged to resort to 
cunning, the device of the feeble, and by playing a 
double role, to imitate the example set by Mirabeau. 
The secret wish of the constitutional King was to 
take back what he had given, and to become once 
more an absolute monarch. It seemed to him that 



THE HOLT WEEK OF 1791. 119 

there was no other way to save religion, prevent 
schism, and re-establish the principle of authority. 
It was not ambition, but conscience, which spoke 
within him, and he honestly believed that his duplic- 
ity toward men would be approved, protected, and 
recompensed by God. 

On Tuesday in Holy Week he went before the 
National Assembly to complain of the violence of 
which he had been the victim the previous day ; and 
on the following Saturday he caused his minister, 
M. de Montmorin, to address a circular to all the 
representatives of France at foreign courts, in which 
he described himself as the happiest of men and 
kings. 

At the evening session of the Assembly that same 
day, one of the secretaries read this really curious 
document. Not only does Louis XVI. profess in it 
his adherence to the Revolution, "which is simply 
the annihilation of a swarm of abuses which have 
been accumulating for centuries through the errors 
of the people or the power of ministers, which has 
never been the power of kings," but he causes it to 
be officially declared to foreign courts that " the most 
dangerous of the internal enemies of the French 
nation are those who have endeavored to cast doubt 
upon the intentions of the monarch," and that "these 
men are very culpable or very blind if they consider 
themselves the King's friends." It was thus that 
Louis XVI. pointed out to popular vengeance his 
most intimate courtiers and devoted servants, — the 



120 MABIE ANTOINETTE. 

recusant priests and the nobles of the National 
Assembly. The circular, a veritable monument of 
duplicity, was received with pretended transports 
of delight and cries of " Live the King ! " It was 
decided to send it to the departments, the armies, 
and the colonies ; and all cures were commanded to 
read it at their parochial Masses. 

Marat protested against this enthusiasm. In num- 
ber 443 of his Ami du Peuple^ he exclaimed: "What! 
all heads turned by such a piece of buffoonery ! Will 
you always be duped by the traitors who surround 
you? . . . The circular is merely the production of 
some pedantic academician, some rascally minister 
of the court." Then recalling that Louis XVI. had 
come on the 19th to complain that he was not free, 
he added: "Where did he get the effrontery to 
accuse of calumny those who have said he is not 
free, when only five days ago he came like a school- 
boy to make the same complaint to the National 
Assembly?" 

The Ami du Roi said, on the other hand : " If the 
despots of Europe, who are not illumined by the 
celestial lights environing the apostles of the Rights 
of Man, fancy that they see in this letter itself 
a new proof of the captivity of the King and the 
abasement of his power, no one can be blamed ex- 
cept those who, by forcing the monarch to become 
their echo, will have made it plain that he is their 
prisoner." 

And now comes Easter Sunday. Formerly it was the 



THE HOLY WEEK OF 1791. 121 

day of joy, the resurrection day, the day of light and 
life. Now it is gloomy and sorrowful unto death. The 
priests whose functions you are obliged to attend in 
the church of Saint Germain-l'Auxerrois, unfortunate 
monarch, you look upon as apostates and traitors. 
Your sister Elisabeth would not come with you to this 
sanctuary, which to her seems profaned by the new 
pastor, the intruder, the constitutional priest. Yes ; 
the priest who says the Mass is a rebel against the 
commands of the Church, an enemy of Saint Peter, 
a salaried official of the National Assembly. Madame 
Elisabeth has declared that she would hear the Mass 
of her almoner in the chapel of the Tuileries. Pla- 
cards posted on the walls of a gallery close to her 
apartments have threatened her with the direst out- 
rages if she will not accompany you to Saint Ger- 
main-l'Auxerrois. But the intrepid woman did not 
allow herself to be intimidated. She is praying in 
the royal chapel, while you, the most Christian King, 
and your Queen with you, sanction by your presence 
the religious revolution. And while the Mass of 
Easter Day is said before you in the old basilica of 
Saint Germain-l'Auxerrois, heaven itself seems full 
of wrath : it thunders, a storm breaks overhead, and 
in profound sadness you re-enter your palace, or, to 
speak more truly, your prison. 



SECOND PART. 
THE VARENNES JOUENEY. 

I. 

PEEPARATIONS FOR FLIGHT. 

PROFOUNDLY stricken in his dignity as King 
and his conscience as a Christian, Louis XVL 
had come to the end of his patience. The decree of 
June 5, 1791, which deprived him of the pardoning 
prerogative, crowned his humiliations. " The King's 
liberty was taken away long ago," said Madame 
Elisabeth, "and now they forbid him to be merci- 
ful." The unhappy monarch had but one idea left : 
that of flight. He had long been preoccupied with 
plans of escape. At first he had been dissuaded by 
historical precedents. He recalled Charles I. led 
to the scaffold for having contended against Parlia- 
ment, and James II. losing the crown for having left 
his palace. Mirabeau had counselled a departure 
from Paris ; but one which would bear no resem- 
blance to a flight : " For," said he, " a king must not 
go away secretly, even though it were to be a king." 

122 



PREPARATIONS FOR FLIGHT. 123 

The time was past for acting in such a manner. A 
departure by daylight was impossible. In June, 1791, 
Louis XVI. could only fly b}^ night, like a fugitive, like 
a condemned wretch seeking to escape. To employ 
force would have been not merely useless, but danger- 
ous. Even stratagem was not free from great diffi- 
culties, although it remained the sole resource. 

The obstacles to be overcome seemed almost insur- 
mountable. How would it be possible to deceive a 
surveillance which daily grew more rigorous ? How 
escape incessant espionage? How quit the palace, 
and pass through the city without being recognized 
and followed? Six hundred National Guards were 
constantly on duty at the Tuileries. Two mounted 
sentries were always posted before the outer door. 
There were sentinels everywhere, indoors and out. 
They were to be found in the passages between the 
bedchambers of the King and Queen, and even in 
the little dark corridor contrived in the roof, where 
the private staircases terminated. ' Officers of the 
National Guard, nearly all of them revolutionists, 
performed the duties once assigned to the body- 
guards. Neither the King nor the Queen could go 
out unattended by a certain number of them. In 
addition to this public surveillance there was that of 
the servants, perhaps still more dangerous. Almost 
every one of them were spies. Marie Antoinette felt 
convinced that among all her attendants she could 
count safely on none but her first lady's-maids and 
one or two footmen. 



124 MARIE ANTOINETTE. 

At first glance, escape seemed absolutely imprac- 
ticable ; but the captives were ingenious. Louis 
XVI. and Marie Antoinette did not despair, and they 
prepared patiently an entire series of stratagems to 
evade their pretended defenders, who were in reality 
their jailers. 

Some of the National Guards, on duty by night 
and day, slept on mattresses before the doors of the 
royal bedchambers. It was useless, therefore, to 
think of passing through these doors. But, happily, 
there was a door, long since disused, which was con- 
cealed by a piece of furniture easily moved. By 
dint of searching for the place whence they could 
leave the palace with least risk, Marie Antoinette 
had discovered that one of her women, Madame de 
Ronchreuil, occupied a little room communicating by 
a corridor with her apartment, and which might be 
utilized for the project of escape. This little room 
opened into the apartment of the Duke of Villequier, 
which had one exit on the Court of the Princes, and 
another on the Court Royal. The Duke of Villequier 
had just emigrated, and his apartment remained un- 
occupied. Marie Antoinette procured the key to it. 
From thence one might hope to leave the chateau 
without being recognized. There were many sentries 
stationed in the courtyards, but none at the door of 
M. de Villequier's apartment; moreover, at certain 
hours they were accustomed to see many persons leav- 
ing the Tuileries at the same time, notably toward 
eleven or twelve o'clock at night, when the service 
of the day was over. 



PB.EPABATIONS FOE FLIGHT. 125 

The scheme adopted by Louis XVI. was to go to 
Montm^dy, a fortified town bordering the Emperor's 
dominions and within reach of the fortress of Luxem- 
bourg. In case of disaster, it would be easy to take 
refuge in this fortress, which was esteemed the 
strongest one in Europe. Another advantage was 
the possibility of receiving aid from an Austrian 
army should it become necessary. The Emperor 
Leopold, Marie Antoinette's brother, had ascended 
the throne within a year, and had expressed his 
intention to serve the interests of his sister and his 
brother-in-law. 

The town of Montm^dy, like the whole French 
frontier, from the Moselle and the Sambre to Switzer- 
land, had been placed under the command of an 
ardent royalist. Lieutenant - General Marquis de 
Bouill^. His American campaign had won him the 
reputation of an officer of the first rank, and the 
firmness he had recently shown in suppressing 
the outbreaks at Nancy had increased his military 
renown. The National Assembly feared him, and 
treated him with- deference. Unwilling to be subject 
to any one except the King, he had refused to hold 
relations with the Count of Artois and the Prince of 
Cond^. Baron de Breteuil, who, in the emigration, 
was the secret agent of Louis XVL, persuaded the 
sovereign that the Marquis of Bouill^ was the right 
man to trust, and was authorized to make overtures 
to him in the King's name. 

M. de Bouille received these overtures with trans- 



126 MAEIE ANTOINETTE. 

port, happy at being able to conciliate his mon- 
archical zeal with the interests of his ambition. A 
correspondence in cipher was carried on between 
the monarch and the general. Unfortunately, revolu- 
tionary aspirations were pervading nearly all ranks 
of the Army of the East ; and M. de Bouill^ could 
not count on the fidelity of more than about a score 
of German battalions and three or four regiments of 
cavalry. At first he proposed that the King should 
take the Flanders route, as the shortest and most 
secure way of leaving the kingdom, and enter Mont- 
m^dy from without. This plan was rejected because 
the King was unwilling, under any pretext, to leave 
his own dominions, as that might give occasion for 
decreeing his deposition. Then M. de Bouill^ sug- 
gested the Rheims route, where there were not many 
towns to pass through, and which could easily be 
protected. But Louis XVI. objected that it would 
be dangerous for him to pass through Rheims, where 
his face had been well known since his consecration. 
This route was given up therefore, and that of 
Ch^lons-sur-Marne, Clermont, and Varennes settled 
on. 

It was also agreed that the King should charge 
himself with all the details of the journey from Paris 
to Ch^lons-sur-Marne, and that, after leaving there, 
M. de Bouille should take the responsibility for the 
remainder. May 27, 1791, Louis XVI. wrote him 
that he would start on the 19tli of the following 
month, between midnight and one o'clock ; that he 



PBEPABATIONS FOB FLIGHT, 127 

would go in a private carriage to Bondy, a post- 
station near Paris, where he would take a double 
carriage which was to be waiting for him, and that 
one of his body-guards would act as courier. The 
general stationed a small army corps under Mont- 
m^dy and took care to dispose troops at intervals 
along the route, from this town to Chalons. The 
Royal-German regiment was at Stenay, one squadron 
of hussars at Dun, and another at Varennes. Two 
squadrons of dragoons were to be at Clermont on 
the day when the King passed through. They were 
under the command of Count Charles de Damas, who 
had been ordered to take a detachment to Sainte- 
Menehould. Moreover, fifty hussars from Varennes 
were to be at Pont-de-Somme-Vesle. 

June 15, M. de Bouille received a letter from the 
King, announcing that the departure, delayed for a 
day, would not take place until between twelve and 
one in the night of June 20-21. 

The delay was occasioned by the necessity of con- 
cealing the preparations for flight from one of the 
Queen's chamber-maids, an ardent democrat, whose 
time of service would not expire until the 19th. 
M. de Bouilld was annoyed. He had already issued 
his orders for the departure of the two squadrons 
who were to be at Clermont when the King arrived, 
and now he was obliged to double the time of their 
stay in that town, which might give rise to sus- 
picions. 

Meanwhile, Louis XYI. and the Queen were pain- 



128 MAnm ANTOINETTE. 

fully completing their preparations for escape. Their 
principal assistant was Count de Fersen, a foreigner 
who served France in the capacity of colonel-proprie- 
tor of the regiment of Royal Swedes. In happier 
days he had been one of Marie Antoinette's favor- 
ites, and he felt toward her one of those profound 
and lofty sentiments which have their birth in roman- 
tic and chivalrous hearts and fill their whole exist- 
ence. 

Marie Antoinette, on her part, if her calumniators 
are to be believed, may have felt something warmer 
than friendship for the handsome Swede. A hint of 
this suspicion is found in the Souvenirs et Portraits of 
the Duke of Ldvis. Speaking of M. de Fersen and 
his part in the Varennes journey, he makes this 
malicious reflection: "It was unseemly, on more 
accounts than one, that on this perilous occasion M. de 
Fersen should have occupied a post properly belong- 
ing to some great French noble." 

Marie Antoinette was right in counting on the 
devotion of this gentleman, who had the soul of a 
knight-errant. He it was that organized the prepa- 
rations for departure. As the Minister of Foreign 
Affairs had not been taken into confidence, the first 
difficulty was to obtain a passport for the royal 
family. M. de Fersen undertook to overcome it. 
One of his friends, a noble Russian lady. Baroness de 
Korff, was about to leave France and return to her 
own country. She meant to take her two children, 
a man-servant and two chamber-maids with her, and 



PBEPABATIONS FOB FLIGHT. 129 

had applied to the Minister of Foreign Affairs, 
through the intermediation of the Russian embassy, 
for the necessary passport. As soon as it was 
received, she gave it to M. de Fersen. It was this 
passport which was to serve Louis XVI., Marie 
Antoinette, the Dauphin, Madame Royale, Madame 
Elisabeth, and Madame de Tourzel, the children's 
governess. 

M. de Fersen had also undertaken to procure, in 
the name of the Baroness de Korff, the Carriage to 
be used by the royal family. It was a very large, 
double-seated vehicle called a herline, which had been 
ordered from a Parisian saddler on December 22, 
1790, and which cost 5944 livres. The way in which 
it was made was enough to arouse suspicion, for, as 
the King was unwilling to be separated from his 
family, and as Madame de Tourzel insisted on accom- 
panying them, an exceptionally large carriage was 
needed ; moreover, various accessories had been pro- 
vided which were likely to arrest attention. For the 
rest, it was agreed that the fugitives should leave 
Paris in a large hackney coach, driven by Count de 
Fersen, disguised as a coachman, and not enter their 
own carriage until they arrived at Bondy. 

Louis XVI. desired also to be accompanied by 
three of his former body-guards, who had been dis- 
banded after the October days of 1789. He commis- 
sioned Count d'Agoult to choose among them, for 
this difficult task, three men especially energetic 
and devoted, and of tried discretion and courage. 



130 MABIE ANTOINETTE. 

M. d'Agoult selected MM. de Valory, de Moustier, 
and de Maiden, who, at the time of the October 
days, had distinguished themselves by defending the 
Queen's apartments at Versailles at the peril of their 
lives. They availed themselves enthusiastically of 
an occasion for still further devotion, and were 
secretly presented, June 17, to Louis XVI. and the 
Queen at the Tuileries. Marie Antoinette asked 
all three of them their baptismal names, saying that 
during the journey each would be called by his 
own, as it was necessary they should be taken for 
domestic servants. They were to wear yellow vests, 
in the style of those worn by couriers. The King 
gave them detailed instructions on essential points, 
and all three swore boundless fidelity to their master. 
The preparations being now completed, the fugitives 
waited impatiently for the 20th of June, the date 
appointed for their escape, and besought God to look 
favorably on their project. 



II. 

JUNE TWENTIETH, 1791. 

THE twentieth day of June, 1791, did not pass 
without anxieties. The flight was to take 
place at midnight, and at every instant the fugitives 
feared lest their intention should be discovered. 
Vague rumors were circulating throughout the city, 
and at the Tuileries the domestics were whispering 
together. One of the three body-guards, who were 
to accompany them as couriers, was acquainted with 
M. de Gouvion, major-general of the National Guard, 
and the confidant of Lafayette, who resided in the 
palace. In the morning, M. de Valory made a call 
on him to ascertain whether the King's intention was 
suspected. M. de Valory having alluded to the 
alarms disseminated by the newspapers, M. de Gouvion 
replied: "I will wager my head that the King has 
not the least desire to leave Paris. He is certain 
that no one bears ill-will to his person, and that 
when once the desired changes in the government 
are effected, he will be more powerful than ever." 
M. de Valory went afterwards to the Queen to 
acquaint her with these reassuring words. 

131 



132 MARIE ANTOINETTE. 

The moment that he entered, through a small door 
opening on the dark corridor dividing in two the 
apartments on the ground-floor, Marie Antoinette 
said to him: "I thought I recognized M. de La- 
fayette's footstep. That man frightens me so that I 
fancy I hear or see him every minute." Apprised of 
the remark made by the major-general of the National 
Guard, she added : " I thank you for the relief you 
bring me ; I have need of it. Well ! we are approach- 
ing the terrible moment. Can we get away from here 
without being recognized? ... M. de Lafayette has 
doubled the guards in every direction." — "Madame," 
answered M. de Valory, "he has taken this precau- 
tion to reassure those who are uneasy, and to quiet 
the grumblers, rather than because he has any fears 
himself. I venture to propose that Your Majesty 
should permit me to see M. de Gouvion again this 
afternoon. If I find him still confident, M. de La- 
fayette must be so likewise, and it will be safe to 
wager that we shall make our escape from the palace 
without difficulty." 

Then the King, coming in, said : " If they suspect 
nothing, we shall easily get away. ... You are an 
officer of my body-guards. If we arrive in safety, 
you and your comrades will not be forgotten. . . . 
I shall spend to-morrow night at the Abbaye-d'Orval. 
The Marquis of Bouill^ is awaiting me before Mont- 
m^dy with an army corps. Strong detachments of 
hussars and dragoons are stationed at Pont-de-Somme- 
Vesle, Sainte Menehould, Clermont, Yarennes, and 



JUNE TWENTIETH, 1791. 133 

Dun. You will go in advance of my carriage. When 
you reach Pont-de-Somme-Vesle, ask for the Duke 
of Choiseul: he is in command of the squadron of 
Lauzun's hussars which is stationed there ; he will 
obtain an interview for you with an aide-de-camp of 
M. de Bouill^, whom you will instruct, in my name, 
to execute the orders he has received." Louis XVI. 
then gave M. de Valory detailed instructions and 
sent him away, saying, "This evening, at half-past 
eleven." 

Meanwhile, no change was made in the etiquette 
and ordinary customs of the court. Nothing remark- 
able had occurred during the day which might attract 
attention. At eleven in the morning the Queen 
went to Mass, and, on leaving the chapel, ordered 
her carriage for a drive at five in the afternoon. 

Madame Royale (the future Duchess of Angou- 
leme) has preserved in a curious narrative an 
account of her impressions during the hours preced- 
ing the departure. "It seemed to me all day," she 
says, " that my father and mother were very anxious 
and absorbed, without my understanding why. After 
dinner they sent my brother and me into another 
room, and remained alone with my aunt. I have 
since learned that it was then they informed her of 
their project of flight." At five in the evening Marie 
Antoinette went out with her two children and two 
ladies of her suite to the Tivoli gardens, at the 
extremity of the Chauss^e d'Antin. "During our 
walk," adds Madame Royale, " my mother took me 



134 MARIE ANTOINETTE. 

aside and told me I must not be uneasy about what 
I was going to see, and that we should not be sepa- 
rated long, but would quickly rejoin each other. I 
listened, but without understanding in the least what 
she meant. She kissed me, and said that if the 
ladies asked why I was so agitated, I must tell them 
that she had been scolding me, but I had made it up 
with her. We returned home at seven o'clock. I 
felt very sad, for I did not comprehend what my 
mother had told me. I was all alone. My mother 
had invited Madame de Mackau to go to the Visita- 
tion Convent, which she frequently visited, and she 
had sent away to the country the young person who 
usually stayed with me." 

And now the Count of Provence, the future Louis 
XVIII., shall narrate to us his last meeting with 
Louis XVI. It was his intention also to depart that 
night for Belgium, whence he expected to go to 
rejoin the King. He came to the Tuileries with his 
wife in the evening, to sup with the royal family 
and receive the commands of Louis XVI. The two 
brothers, who expected to meet again before the 
week was over, were about to separate forever. 

Before supper. Monsieur chatted for some minutes 
with his sister, Madame Elisabeth, who had been in- 
formed of the proposed flight only that afternoon. 
" I found her tranquil," says the Count of Provence, 
"submissive to the will of God; satisfied, but not 
manifesting extravagant joy, — in a word, as calm as 
if she had known about the project for a year. We 



JUNE TWENTIETH, 1791. 135 

embraced each other most affectionately. Afterwards, 
she said to me : ' Brother, you are religious ; let me 
give you a little picture. It can bring you nothing 
but good luck.' I accepted it, as may easily be be- 
lieved, with as much pleasure as gratitude. We 
talked for some time about the great enterprise, and, 
without allowing myself to be blinded by my tender- 
ness, I must say that it would be impossible to reason 
with more coolness and judgment than she displayed. 
I could not avoid admiring her." 

Afterwards, the Count of Provence went down to 
the apartment of the Queen. As he embraced her 
with great effusion, " Take care not to unnerve me," 
said Marie Antoinette ; " I would not like any one to 
see that I have been crying." The Prince and his 
wife took supper with the King, the Queen, and Ma- 
dame Elisabeth. Neither of them suspected that it 
was the last meal they were to eat together. All 
five remained in conversation until nearly eleven 
o'clock. When the moment to separate had come, 
Louis XVI., who had not yet informed his brother to 
what place he was going, now said that he was bound 
for Montmedy, and directed Monsieur to repair to 
Longwy, by way of Lower Austria. The brothers 
then bade each other farewell, in the hope of rejoin- 
ing each other in a place of safety within four days. 

The moment of departure was approaching. After 
all, the day had passed very well. There had been 
no denunciation and no grave suspicions. The King 
received the usual visitors in his bedroom. The or- 



136 MARIE ANTOINETTE. 

dinary ways of the palace had been scrupulously 
observed. Orders for the next day were given to the 
servants. Doors were closed and locked. The lights 
were put out. The members of the royal family had 
gone to bed. A few minutes later they got up again. 



III. 



THE DEPARTUEE. 



THE moment of departure had arrived. The fugi- 
tives were not to leave the Tuileries all together. 
It was arranged that the Dauphin and his sister, ac- 
companied by Madame de Tourzel, should go first. 
A few moments later, the King, the Queen, and 
Madame Elisabeth would leave the palace one by- 
one. 

Toward ten o'clock, while the Count and Countess 
of Provence were still at the Tuileries, the Queen 
went to her daughter's room, and bade her get ready. 
She dressed her in a brown chintz frock, which had 
cost ninety cents. The first chambermaid of the 
young Princess, Madame Brunier, was in the room, 
and Marie Antoinette told her what was about to 
happen. " I would like," said she, " to have you go 
with us. But since you have your husband, you may 
remain.". Madame Brunier did not hesitate a moment 
in responding that she would follow the Queen wher- 
ever she went. It was settled that both she and 
Madame de Neuville, first chambermaid to the Dau- 
phin, should be of the party, and that they should 

137 



138 MARIE ANTOINETTE, 

set off at once, in a special carriage, and rejoin the 
royal family at Bondy. 

Marie Antoinette went from her daughter's room 
to that of her son, to awaken him. " Get up," she 
said to him ; " you are going to a place of war, where 
you will command your regiment." At these words, 
the child sprang out of bed, saying, " Quick, quick ! 
Let us hurry. Give me my sabre and my boots, and 
let us go." What they gaA'e him was neither boots 
nor a sabre, but a little girl's dress, a frock and bon- 
net, which the governess of the royal children, Ma- 
dame de Tourzel, had prepared, in expectation of cir- 
cumstances which might render a disguise necessary. 
The passport to be used by the fugitives stated that 
Madame de Korff was accompanied by her two daugh- 
ters. It was necessary, therefore, that the Dauphin 
should be considered the sister of Madame Royale. 
" They dressed my brother as a little girl," says this 
Princess, in her account of the journey. " He was 
charming. As he had fallen asleep, he did not know 
what happened. I asked him what he thought was 
going to be done. He said he thought there was to 
be a comedy, because we were disguised." A strange 
comedy, in fact, which wa^ to end by a terrible 
drama ! 

The two children and their governess, Madame de 
Tourzel, passed out through the apartment of the 
Duke of Villequier. In front of the palace there 
were three courts : that of the Switzers, in front of 
the Pavilion of Marsan ; the Royal Court, in front 



THE DEPARTURE. 139 

of the Pavilion of the Centre ; and the Court of the 
Princes, in front of the Pavilion of Flora. The 
apartment of M. de Villequier had a door by which 
one could go down into the latter court, and as it 
had been empty since the Duke emigrated, no sentry 
was now posted there. Marie Antoinette wished to 
superintend in person the departure of her children. 
She went with them into the Court of the Princes, 
running a great risk thereby, as Madame Royale has 
remarked in her narration. A large hackney coach was 
standing in the middle of the court, with M. de Fer- 
sen on the box, disguised as a coachman. This coach 
was to take the children to the Barri^re de Clichy, 
where the berlin intended for the journey was to 
await them. The Dauphin, his sister, and Madame 
de Tourzel got into the carriage, and the Queen went 
back into the palace. The coach passed out of the 
Court of the Princes, and went through the rue Saint 
Honore to the Little Carrousel, opposite the house 
called the Hotel de Guaillarbois, near the rue de 
I'Echelle and the rue Saint Nicaise. They were to be 
rejoined at this point by the King and Queen and 
Madame Elisabeth, who were to leave the Tuileries 
separately, and on foot. 

Meanwhile, the King had just held his reception, 
and gona to bed with all the usual ceremony. He 
had risen again immediately. He had disguised him- 
self with a wig, and put on the costume in which 
he expected to pass himself off as M. Durand, the 
Baroness de Korff's steward. Accompanied by M. de 



140 MABIE ANTOINETTE. 

Yalory he went quietly out of the palace by the prin- 
cipal door, that of the Pavilion of the Centre. The 
sentries did not recognize him. He was supposed to 
be one of the numerous persons who left the Tuileries 
every night toward twelve o'clock, after the King 
had gone to bed. 

The Queen and Madame Elisabeth went out, one 
after the other, through the door of M. de Yillequier's 
apartment. Marie Antoinette wore a sort of brown 
tunic, a black hat in the Chinese style, ornamented 
with a long piece of lace which answered for a veil. 
M. de Moustier gave her his arm ; Madame Elisabeth 
was attended by M. de Maiden. 

All this time the coach containing the Dauphin, 
his sister, and their governess, was standing in the 
Little Carrousel, in front of the H6tel de Guaillarbois. 
" My brother," says Madame Roy ale, " was lying in 
the bottom of the carriage, under Madame de Touzel's 
gown. We saw M. de Lafayette pass, returning from 
my father's bedchamber. We were waiting there at 
least an hour, without knowing what had happened. 
Never has any time seemed to me so long. ... At 
last, at the end of an hour, I saw a woman walking 
around the carriage. I was afraid that we had been 
discovered, but I was reassured by seeing the coach- 
man open the door. It was my aunt." 

A few minutes later Louis XVI. arrived. There 
was no one missing now except the Queen. Each 
minute of delay caused the fugitives inexpressible 
anguish. They said to each other that Marie Antoi- 



THE DEPARTURE. 141 

nette had doubtless been recognized, and as they 
would not on any account start without her, they 
thought they would be obliged to abandon their 
journey. 

The Queen had not been recognized, but she had 
lost her way. The vast space which separates the 
Tuileries from the Louvre, and which is now one of 
the most beautiful spots in Europe, was then a laby- 
rinth where numerous streets crossed each other, 
the Carrousel, Saint Nicaise, Rohan, Chartres, Saint 
Thomas du Louvre, des Orties, and others. 

The Queen was bewildered in this maze. She had 
just been greatly alarmed by seeing the carriage of 
General Lafayette, who was coming from the Tui- 
leries where he had made his rounds' after being pres- 
ent in the King's bedchamber. The apparition of a 
ghost would not have frightened Marie Antoinette 
more. Several lackeys surrounded the carriage, hold- 
ing lighted torches which shed so much light that 
the fugitive, persuaded that the General was about to 
recognize her, quitted M. de Moustier's arm in dis- 
may, and fled in a different direction. M. de Moustier 
tried to reassure her by pointing out that the torches, 
placed between her and M. de Lafayette, must dazzle 
the latter's eyes, and prevent his recognition of her. 

In her terror, the Queen mistook her way and got 
lost among the streets surrounding the Carrousel. 
She turned to the left instead of the right, and went 
toward the Pont Royal: the night was dark, and 
she did not know whither she was going. M. de 



142 MARIE ANTOINETTE. 

Moustier could neither guide her nor find the way 
himself. They were obliged to ask the sentry on 
the bridge, and then retrace their steps, pass the 
wickets beside the river, go along the Court of 
the Princes, the Court Royal, and the Court of the 
Switzers, in order to arrive finally at the corner of 
the rue de TEchelle, where the hackney-coach con- 
taining the other fugitives was still standing before 
the H6tel Guaillarbois. 

Reunited at last after so much anguish, they offered 
thanks to Divine Providence. The coach door was 
closed. M. de Fersen whipped up his horses and 
gained the Barridre de Clichy, where they were to 
find the three body-guards, and the berlin in which 
their journey was to be accomplished. 

It was the shortest night of the year, and day 
had already begun to break. It was about two 
o'clock. At first there was some difficulty in finding 
the place where the berlin was to be, and Louis 
XVI. got out of the coach, to the great uneasiness 
of his family. At last M. de Fersen came up with 
it. The doors of the two vehicles were placed side 
by side, ' and the fugitives passed from one to the 
other. The hackney-coach was left beside the road 
with no one to watch it. The berlin was drawn by 
five horses. One of M. de Fersen's servants acted 
as postilion, M. de Fersen and two of the body- 
guards, MM. de Moustier and de Maiden, mounted 
the coachman's box. M. de Yalory had gone ahead 
on horseback to order relays at Bondy. " Come on, 



THE DEPARTURE. 143 

now, be bold ! drive fast ! " cried M. de Fersen to 
the postilion. 

The horses galloped at full speed. Bondy was 
quickly reached and the horses changed. Here 
M. de Fersen took his leave of the royal family. 
He was to start for Brussels the next day, but he 
wished first to re-enter Paris, so as to assure himself 
whether the flight had yet been discovered. When 
he arrived, in broad daylight, he went to the H6tel 
de Ville, the mayor's office, and the staff-office of the 
National Guard. Everything was quiet in these 
three places ; he concluded, therefore, that nothing- 
had thus far been suspected. Meanwhile, Louis 
XVI. and his family were quietly continuing their 
route, and the journey, which was to end so badly, 
began well. 



IV. 

JUNE TWENTIETH, 1791, IN PARIS. 

IN Paris, the night of June 20-21 had passed very 
quietly. Nobody suspected that the King was no 
longer in his capital, and even at the Tuileries there 
were neither doubts nor misgivings. According to 
his usual custom, the Dauphin's physician entered 
the apartment of the young Prince toward seven 
o'clock in the morning to see how he was getting on. 
He found his room empty. He passed into the apart- 
ment of Madame Royale, where he supposed the 
Prince might 'be. Seeing neither the sister nor the 
brother, he began to be uneasy. The alarm spread. 
It was discovered that the chambers of the King, the 
Queen, and Madame Elisabeth were likewise deserted. 
A message was sent immediately to M. de Lafayette, 
who was at first unwilling to believe it. The news 
spread through Paris very quickly. The tocsin 
Avas sounded. The drums beat the general alarm. 
The people, believing themselves betrayed, flocked 
around the Tuileries, the H6tel de Yille, and the 
National Assembly. Lafayette, who had gone in all 
haste to the palace, and afterwards to the Assembly, 
144 



JUNE TWENTIETH, 1791, IN PARIS. 145 

was assailed as he passed by men who threatened to 
kill him. Meanwhile, the Assembly had just met. 
It was presided over by Alexandre de Beauharnais, 
husband of the future Empress Josephine. He an- 
nounced the flight of the royal family. The Assem- 
bly, calm and grave, took all necessary measures 
without delay. The Ministers were summoned, and 
couriers sent to the departments, with orders direct- 
ing all public functionaries. National Guards, and 
troops of the line to arrest any persons leaving the 
kingdom. M. de Laporte, intendant of the civil list, 
sent to the President a proclamation which Louis 
XVI. had left behind him, and which was read to 
the Assembly. 

"Frenchmen ! " said the Sovereign, "do you desire 
that anarchy and the despotism of the clubs should 
replace the monarchical government under which the 
nation has prospered during fourteen hundred years ? 
Do you wish to see your King overwhelmed with 
outrages, and deprived of his own liberty while 
endeavoring to establish yours ? " 

In the same document, Louis XVI. enumerated all 
his griefs: the outrages of the October Days, the 
inconveniences of residing in the Tuileries, the insuf- 
ficiency of the civil list, the disbanding of his body- 
guards, the attacks made on the rights of the crown, 
the obstacles put in the way of his visit to Saint 
Cloud, and the obligation to be present, on Easter 
Sunday, at the parochial mass of an intruded cur^. 
"Frenchmen! and you, Parisians !" said the King, in 



146 MABIE ANTOmETTE. 

conclusion, " inhabitants of a city which our ancestors 
took pleasure in calling the good city of Paris, dis- 
trust the suggestions and the falsehoods of your pre- 
tended friends. Return to your King; he will always 
be your father. What pleasure will it not give him 
to forget his personal injuries, and to return among 
you, when a constitution which he shall have freely 
accepted will have caused our religion to be respected, 
so that government may be established on a solid 
footing ! " 

The Assembly, after having listened to this docu- 
ment, passed unmoved to the order of the day, and 
continued its discussion of a projected penal code. 

M. de Lafayette, meanwhile, had gone to the 
H6tel de Ville, in order to concert with the munic- 
ipal officers and the Council of the Commune means 
of discovering the route taken by the royal family. 
Some one suggested that all the hack-drivers of Paris 
should be summoned. One of them had taken Mes- 
dames de Neuville and Brunier, the two lady's-maids, 
to Bondy. He had seen and heard a good deal, and 
it was his report, doubtless, which gave a liint of the 
direction the fugitives had taken, and decided Gen- 
eral Lafayette to despatch two of his aides-de-camp 
on their tracks. The two officers set off in great 
haste. The King was a long way in advance, and 
it seemed hardly possible to overtake him. 

Moreover, it was only the people who sincerely 
desired the arrest and return of the royal family. 
Their flight, or say rather their deliverance, over- 



JUNE TWENTIETH, 1791, IN PARIS. 147 

whelmed the faithful royalists with joy; while, on 
the other hand, the Revolutionists, whether republi- 
cans or Orleanists, were equally pleased by it. As the 
Marquis of Ferri^res has remarked in his Memoirs, 
" the Orleanists were looking forward to the King's 
departure from the realm, and the commotions sure 
to result from it, in hopes that the Parisians and the 
constitutional party, furious at being deceived, would 
be obliged to throw themselves into the arms of the 
Duke of Orleans and offer him the crown." While 
the partisans of this prince went about repeating that 
the flight of Louis XVI. was in reality an abdication, 
a legal annulment of the contract between the nation 
and the monarch, the republicans, who, although few 
in number, were beginning to show their heads, 
destroyed the royal escutcheon and monogram on 
the signs. They were delighted to see that in spite 
of the monarch's absence, everything took its accus- 
tomed course, — the artisans going to their work, the 
cabs rolling through Paris, and, in the evening, not 
a single theatre closing its doors. They said that by 
the flight of Louis XVI. France would gain the sup- 
pression of the civil list, a saving of thirty millions 
a year. 

The demagogues did all they could to excite popu- 
lar feeling, not merely against the King, but against 
Lafayette and Bailly, whom they loudly accused of 
complicity in the escape, and whom they described as 
traitors. Camille Desmoulins wrote in his journal ; 
"On Tuesday, June 21, it is discovered that the 



148 MARIE ANTOINETTE. 

King and all his family have taken flight. This 
general scamper of the male and female Capets took 
place at eleven o'clock in the evening, and the news 
did not get about until nine the next morning. 
Treason ! perjury ! Barnave and Lafayette abuse 
our confidence ! " Then, to accentuate the charge 
more sharply, he added : " I was returning from the 
Jacobins with Danton and other patriots at eleven 
o'clock ; we saw only one patrol the whole Avay. 
Paris appeared to me so deserted that I could not 
avoid remarking on it. One of us, who had a letter 
in his pocket, warning him that the King was to 
depart that night, wanted to watch the palace; he 
saw M. de Lafayette enter it at eleven o'clock." 
Finally, in a paroxysm of anger, Camille Desmoulins 
exclaimed : " As the King animal is an aliquot part 
of the human species, and as we have had the folly 
to make him an integral part of the body politic, he 
must be subjected to the laws of society, which have 
ordained that any man who takes arms against the 
nation shall be punished with death, and to the laws 
of the human species, the natural law, which permits 
one to kill an enemy who attacks him. Now, the 
King has taken aim at the nation. It is true his gun 
hung fire, but it is the nation's turn to shoot." 

At the Cordeliers club, Danton uttered this famous 
invective against Lafayette : " You swore that the 
King should not depart ; you made yourself his 
surety. Of two things, one : either you are a traitor 
who has betrayed his country, or you are stupid in 



JUNE TWENTIETH, 1791, IN PARIS. 149 

having made yourself answerable for a person for 
whom you could not answer. In the most favorable 
case you have proved yourself incapable of command- 
ing us. I descend from the tribune ; I have said 
enough to demonstrate that if I despise traitors, I 
do not fear assassins." 

Meanwhile, the mass of the people, who were 
neither Orleanist nor republican, seemed profoundly 
afflicted by the departure of the royal family, and 
ardently desirous of their return. They said to each 
other that if the King did not come back, civil war 
would break out, foreigners would invade France, 
and Paris would be given over to blood and fire. 
People got excited. News was awaited with fever- 
ish impatience. While this anxiety troubled the 
inhabitants of Paris, Louis XVI. and his family were 
quietly pursuing their journey. " Here I am then," 
said the fugitive King, " outside of that city of Paris 
where I have tasted so much bitterness I By this 
time, Lafayette ought to be a good deal embarrassed 
about his own safety." 



V. 



THE JOUENEY. 



THE six-horse carriage containing the royal fam- 
ily went on all day without encountering any 
obstacles. M. de Valory preceded it as courier ; 
MM. de Maiden and de Moustier were on the box, 
and Mesdames de Neuville and Brunier followed in a 
post-chaise. Madame de Tourzel passed for the Baron- 
ess de Korff, and the Queen for Madame Rochet, gov- 
erness to the daughters of that lady. The Dauphin 
and his sister were styled Amelie and Aglad, the 
two daughters of the baroness ; Madame Elisabeth 
was their nurse ; the King plaj^ed the part of Mr. 
Durand, a steward ; the three body-guards were men- 
servants. M. de Valory was addressed as Frangois ; 
M. de Maiden, as Saint-Jean ; M. de Moustier as Mel- 
chior. The travellers did not even stop to eat, having 
all necessary provisions in the carriage. Their pass- 
port was not asked for, and no one made any diffi- 
culty about supplying them with horses. 

At the post-station of Jalon, which was the last 
before reaching Chalons-sur-Marne, the Queen said 
to M. de Valory : " FrauQois, it seems to me that 
150 



THE JOURNEY. 151 



everything is going very well ; we should be arrested 
by this time if we are going to be ; they have not yet 
noticed our departure." "Madame," replied M. de 
Valory, " as soon as we were twelve leagues away 
from Paris, all cause for anxiety was over. We 
should have been stopped before we got so far if 
anything had been discovered after the visit to the 
King's bedchamber, or our departure from the palace. 
There is no reason for alarm. I have seen no commo- 
tion or suspicion anywhere. Take courage, Madame ; 
all is going well." The King, for his part, said: 
" When we have passed Chalons, we shall have noth- 
ing more to fear; at Pont-de-Somme-Vesle we shall 
find the first detachment of troops, and our journey 
is safe." They arrived at Chalons at about four in 
the afternoon. The greatest quiet reigned there. 
They left without difficulty, after changing horses. 

At Chalons-sur-Marne ended the arrangements 
which were undertaken by the King and Queen. 
The Marquis de Bouill^ had made himself respon- 
sible for the remainder of the journey. 

The royal family were to make the following halt- 
ing-places : Pont-de-Somme-Yesle, three leagues from 
Chalons; Sainte Menehould, four leagues from Pont- 
de-Somme-Vesle ; Clermont-en-Argonne, four leagues 
from Sainte Menehould ; Varennes, three leagues 
from Clermont-en-Argonne ; Dun, five leagues from 
Varennes ; and, five leagues from Dun, Montmedy. 
It had been arranged that at each of these stations 
there would be a detachment of cavalry. 



152 MARIE ANTOINETTE. 

The orders of the Marquis cle Bouille were such 
that if the King wished to make himself known to 
his troops, the detachments which had formed his 
escort would, at each new post, fall back behind his 
carriage to form a rear-guard, giving place to the 
fresh detachments found there, which would act as 
vanguard. If, on the contrary, His Majesty desired to 
preserve his incognito, the detachments which were 
to escort him should allow the carriage to go ahead, 
so as to give time for the exchange of horses, taking 
care, however, to march close behind, so as to avert all 
accidents. Their orders were to follow the carriage 
exactly, forming an impenetrable barrier, through 
which no courier or other person should pass on any 
pretext whatever, and to arrive all together and at 
the same time with the King, at Montmedy, which 
had been provisioned for the support of a numerous 
army during several months. ^ 

It was at Pont-de-Somme-Yesle that Louis XVI. 
expected to find the first detachment, under command 
of the Duke de Choiseul, nephew of the celebrated 
minister of Louis XV., and colonel of the regiment 
of Royal Dragoons. According to the plan of the 
Marquis de Bouill^, it was from this point that the 
orders, for the succeeding stations were to issue. The 
royal family reached Pont-de-Somme-Vesle at half- 
past five in the evening. Cruel surprise ! They found 
there neither the Duke de Choiseul nor the detach- 

1 Account of M. Deslon, captain of the regiment of Lauzun 
Hussars. M. Deslon commanded the detachment of Dun. 



THE JOURNEY. 153 



ment of cavalry. " The earth," said Louis XVI. later 
on, " seemed to open beneath me." What had hap- 
pened? 

According to the plan of the journey, everything 
had been calculated to the minute, and the transit 
through Pont-de-Somme-Vesle had been fixed for 
half -past three in the afternoon. A delay of some 
hours occurring, the Duke de Choiseul became 
alarmed by the disturbance his troops occasioned. 
The people said openlj^ that the pretended arrival of 
a sum of money which needed an escort was a mere 
pretext. M. de Choiseul, abandoning all hope of 
seeing the royal berlin, so impatiently awaited, and, 
rightly or wrongly, believing himself in danger from 
the inhabitants of Pont-de-Somme-Vesle and its en- 
virons, thought it prudent to withdraw his cavalry 
and gain Yarennes by a cross-road. This resolution 
of the Duke de Choiseul has been severely criticised 
by the Marquis de Bouill^ and his son. It caused 
a controversy between them which lasted until 1822. 

The Duke de Choiseul and his cavalry had hardly 
been gone an hour, when the royal family arrived at 
Pont-de-Somme-Vesle. This first mishap was destined 
to render all the subsequent measures which had been 
agreed on abortive. Everything was tranquil at Pont- 
de-Somme-Vesle, however. Louis XVI. became some- 
what reassured on seeing that fresh horses were 
furnished without difficulty, and the journey began 
anew. 

They arrived at Sainte Menehould as safely as if 



154 MARIE ANTOINETTE. 

the J had been escorted. But it was there that the 
difficulty began to make itself felt. The detachment 
of cavalry sent to this town was composed of forty 
dragoons, under Captain Marquis d'Andoins, who, 
like the Duke de Choiseul, was in the secret of the 
journey. The population of Sainte Menehould, who 
were extremely revolutionary, showed themselves 
very suspicious. During the day Captain d'Andoins 
was obliged to go to the h6tel-de-ville to explain the 
presence of the dragoons. In 'the hope of lessening 
suspicion, he had decided not to put his little troop 
under arms. The dragoons had dismounted and 
were walking about the streets in foraging-caps, 
when the royal family arrived at Sainte Menehould. 
It was near eight o'clock in the evening. They saw 
some National Guards, and not without apprehension. 
It was the first time they had met any since leaving 
Paris. Drums were beating, and the town appeared 
in commotion. 

As the carriage passed, the dragoons gave the 
military salute, which the Queen acknowledged in 
her usual graceful and kindly manner. Was this a 
mere act of politeness on the part of the troops, or 
was it something more? Had they begun to pene- 
trate the secret? Certainly, no one had told them 
who were the persons they saluted. This array of 
circumstances did not fail to increase the popular 
uneasiness. The berlin reached the post-house, 
nevertheless, without difficulty. The son of the 
station-master was Drouet, a young man of twenty- 



THE JOURNEY. 155 



eight, whose r61e was to be so fatal to the King. As 
they were putting in fresh horses, Captain d'Andoins 
approached the carriage for a moment, and said in 
an undertone : " Affairs have been mismanaged, and 
I am going away so as to avert suspicion." Then, 
passing close to M. de Moustier, he said : " Go, go 
quickly; you are lost if you do not hurry." 

At this moment, Louis XVI. was so imprudent as 
to put his head out of the carriage door. Young 
Drouet had seen him the previous year at the Fete 
of the Federation. He recognized him. To make 
assurance doubly sure, he got out a revolutionary 
bank-note, on which there was a sufficiently accurate 
likeness of the sovereign, and compared it for some 
time with the face he had just seen. After that he 
had no further doubts. But the presence of the 
dragoons intimidated him. At first he said nothing. 
The horses were harnessed and the carriage started. 
At the same time, M. d'Andoins gave orders for the 
dragoons to mount and follow the berlin. It was 
this which brought the alarm to a head. The Rev- 
olutionists of Sainte Menehould hastened to the 
tavern where the dragoons were, plied them with 
wine, offered them money, and cut their saddle-girths 
in order to prevent their departure. M. d'Andoins 
was arrested. Drouet, in spite of the remonstrances 
of his wife, resolved to pursue the royal family on 
horseback. A quartermaster of dragoons, named 
Lagache, an ardent royalist, perceiving Drouet's 
scheme, mounted also, to pursue and watch him. 



156 MARIE ANTOINETTE. 

But the latter escaped by plunging into the forests 
and taking cross-roads. 

Meanwhile the royal family were still hopefully 
pursuing their journey. As yet there was no cer- 
tain indication that they had been recognized. The 
slightly alarming signs they had observed were 'not 
at all definite. Moreover, they were leaving them 
behind, and no others occurred along the route. 

Towards half-past nine in the evening they arrived 
at Clermont-en-Argonne. The detachment awaiting 
them at this town comprised one hundred and forty 
dragoons, under command of Colonel Count Charles 
de Damas, who knew the secret of the journey. Let 
us allow him to recount what happened at this sta- 
tion: "I saw M. de Valory, and acquainted him with 
the difficulty in which I was placed by the secret dis- 
turbance in the town, and the fear that my detach- 
ment would be arrested when I gave orders to start. 
I warned him not to lose time in reaching Varennes, 
where he could get relays, and go on to announce 
the coming of the King. During the ten minutes it 
took to put in fresh horses, I remained at the post- 
house, surrounded by officers and dragoons, without 
allowing it to be perceived that I had any acquaint- 
ance with the travellers. The King and Queen saw 
me, and made signs of kindness and satisfaction. 
Finally, Madame de Tourzel called me ; she asked 
several questions about the road they had still to 
traverse, and spoke of the children's fatigue. The 
King spoke to me ; the Queen made a sign warning 



THE JOUBNET. 157 



him to disguise his voice. It is impossible for me 
to describe the happiness I felt when I saw the car- 
riage set off toward Varennes." 

Count de Damas then attempted to follow the 
royal family with his dragoons. But the same thing 
that had occurred at Sainte Menehould was repro- 
duced at Clermont-en-Argonne. The population rose 
to prevent their departure. " Your officers are tmi- 
tors," said they to the soldiers ; " they want to drag 
you to the slaughter ; the dragoons are patriots. 
Long live the dragoons ! " The soldiers refused to 
follow their commander, and M. de Damas, threat- 
ened by the crowd, had no resource but flight. He 
rode off, accompanied by a few faithful dragoons, 
saying, " We must get out of this the best way we 
can ; but no matter, the King is safe ! " 

As the royal family had been already some time 
on the road from Clermont to Varennes, it really 
seemed as if all were safe. The distance between 
the two towns is barely three leagues. The road is 
excellent. M. de Damas reflected that Varennes was 
the last station before Montm^dy; that Montmedy 
was the desired haven, and that the fugitives ought 
to reach it that very night and rest from all their 
excitement and fatigue. 

In reasoning thus, M. de Damas was reckoning 
without Drouet, — Drouet, who, with the ruthless 
speed of a hunter, was in feverish pursuit of his 
prey. On leaving Clermont-en-Argonne the road 
forks ; the right-hand one is the high-road of Ver- 



158 MARIE ANTOINETTE. 

dun, the left leads to Varennes. As the royal car- 
riage was starting from the Clermont station, the 
courier on the box called out to the postilions to 
take the Varennes road. The postilions from Sainte 
Menehould who had taken the carriage to Cler- 
mont heard this direction given. On their return 
they met Drouet, and were able to tell him what 
road the travellers had taken. 

Who would arrive first at Varennes, — Louis XVI., 
or Drouet ? The history of France, the history of the 
world, was hanging on that question. On what does 
the destiny of humanity depend ? On the greater or 
less speed with which a man of the people pursues 
a carriage. If Quartermaster Lagache overtakes 
Drouet, or even if Drouet does not reach Varennes 
until a few minutes after Louis XVI., the King will 
not be beheaded, there will be no republic, no empire. 
The face of the world will be changed. The least 
accident, the least delay, the most apparently insig- 
nificant detail, a broken harness, a tired-out horse, a 
cross postilion who drives less rapidly than usual, a 
mere nothing, can unsettle all things here below. 
Drouet reaches Varennes a quarter of an hour before 
the sovereign, and all is over with the monarchy of 
Saint Louis, Henri IV., and Louis XIV. 



VI. 



THE ARREST. 



THE travellers arrived at Varennes at half-past 
eleven in the night of June 21. Certain expla- 
nations will be necessary in order to follow clearly 
the successive phases of the drama about to be 
enacted. 

Varennes, which is built on a declivity, comprises 
two distinct quarters: the upper and the lower 
towns, separated from each other by the river Aire, 
and united by a bridge. At present there is a large 
open square at the entrance of the upper town. In 
1791 this square did not exist, and there was a long 
street leading to the bridge. Between the bridge and 
a church, of which the bell-tower alone remains, was 
an archway, closed at will by a folding door. Close 
to the bell-tower was a little tavern known as the 
Bras-d' Or. 

The arrangements agreed on for the King's pas- 
sage were as follows : A detachment of sixty hussars 
of the regiment of Lauzun, under command of Lieu- 
tenant Rohrig, was stationed at Varennes. As there 
was no post-station in the town, the royal berlin was 

159 



160 MABIE ANTOINETTE. 

to be relayed by the Duke de Choiseul's horses and 
postilions. The horses had been brought to Varennes 
by a staff -officer, M. de Goguelat, who was to go from 
there with the Duke de Choiseul to Pont-de-Somme- 
Vesle to await the King. According to his instruc- 
tions, M. de Goguelat was to confer with Louis XVI. 
at Pont-de-Somme-Yesle, and then start for Varennes 
in the capacity of courier. As he had several fresh 
horses at different places on the road, it had been 
calculated that )^ would arrive there about an hour 
in advance of the royal family, and would be able to 
superintend the final preparations for the King's 
passage through the town. 

This part of the .programme was not carried out. 
At Pont-de-Somme-Vesle, M. de Goguelat had done 
the same thing as the Duke de Choiseul. Seeing 
that the fugitives were delayed, and believing him- 
self threatened by the inhabitants, he had quitted 
Pont-de-Somme-Vesle before their arrival, and with- 
out informing the Sovereign that the place first 
designated for the change of horses at Varennes had 
been altered. 

It had been arranged that this relay should be 
stationed at the entry of the upper town, at a house 
carefully designated beforehand to the King. But 
M. de Goguelat had thought proper to change this 
part of the programme, and had decided to place the 
relay on the bank of the Aire, in the lower town, at 
the Q-rand-Monarque tavern. He said to himself, 
doubtless, that while relaying, it would be better to 



THE ARREST. 161 



have the bridge behind him, where a few hussars 
could readily intercept communication and repulse 
any attack, than to have before him a passage like 
the archway, which could be easily obstructed. This 
modification may have been prudent. But still, the 
King should have been apprised of it. 

For additional security, the Marquis de Bouille 
had sent his second son, the Chevalier de Bouill^, 
and another officer. Count de Raigecourt, to Va- 
rennes, for the purpose of superintending the 
exchange of horses, and to await the coming of the 
royal family. As soon as these gentlemen were 
apprised of their near arrival by M. de Goguelat, 
they were to start for Stenay to inform the Marquis 
de Bouill^. 

At the moment when the royal family entered 
Varennes, M. Rohrig, the second lieutenant, who 
commanded the detachment oi sixty hussars of the 
Lauzun regiment, had not assembled his little band. 
Not being in the secret of the journey, he did not 
know that the King was to pass, but merely supposed 
that a convoy of money was expected which he was 
to pro^dde with an escort. 

The postilions and horses of the Duke de Choiseul, 
which had been destined for the relay, were at the 
G-rand-Monarque in the lower town. The Chevalier 
de Bouill^ and Count de Raigecourt were there also : 
they were waiting for M. de Goguelat, who did not 
come. 

Lastly, Drouet had reached Varennes a few min- 



162 MARIE ANTOINETTE. 

utes before, and had repaired in all haste to the Bras 
d ' Or, the tavern close to the archway and in front 
of the bridge, to give the alarm and organize an 
ambuscade. 

M. de Valory had preceded the carriage on horse- 
back. Arrived at this point of the account he pub- 
lished during the reign of Louis XVIII., he thus 
expresses his grief : " Here, readers of acute sensibil- 
ities, the unhappy friends of an august and beloved 
family, ought to stop if they do not wish to shudder 
over each line that follows. Yes, they must tremble 
with horror to learn that a man could have cherished 
in his breast the thought of crime during the time it 
took to cross a dozen leagues, and that, without 
abandoning his infernal design, he succeeded in seiz- 
ing and delivering to their murderers the best and 
most virtuous of monarchs, the tenderest and most 
illustrious of mothers, her royal children full of the 
charms of innocence, and the most admirable Princess 
of whom France has ever had reason to be proud. 
Pardon me," exclaims M. de Valory, " the accents of 
my sorrow ! My hand trembles ; those fatal images 
revive before my eyes ! " Then, speaking of the 
Duchess d' Angoul^me, he adds : " Ah ! the sole relic 
of a sacred family, immolated almost entire, ought 
not to read this recital, made for history alone ! May 
it never come within her reach ! There is no need 
of telling anything to this consoling angel of our 
misled nation. This angel has seen too much, heard 
too much, and shed too many tears; pray Heaven, 



THE ABBEST. 163 



rather, to make her lose the memory of all. . . . But 
let us reanimate cur courage ; let us continue if we 
can." 

On entering Varennes, a few minutes before the 
royal family, M. de Valory had a presentiment that 
he would not find the postilions and horses of the 
Duke de Choiseul at the designated place. This 
prevision was but too well founded. 

Alarmed, M. de Valory looked on every side. He 
called ; no one answered him. He searched the 
woods near Varennes. He went down into the lower 
town. Nothing, absolutely nothing. Meanwhile 
the royal family began an equally fruitless search. 
Louis XVI. found neither hussars, couriers, postilions, 
nor horses. What anxiety ! What distress ! To be 
wrecked so near the haven, a few leagues from 
Montm^dy, that land of promise, where the royal 
family had hoped to rise in glory from the tomb of 
their humiliations and disasters. Fatality ! What is 
the answer to this dreadful riddle? Why are not 
the sixty hussars of the Lauzun regiment here at the 
entrance of Varennes ? What has become of M. de 
Goguelat? Where are the Chevalier de Bouill^ and 
Count de Raigecourt, and the Duke de Choiseul's 
horses and postilions? How are they to be sought 
for in the darkness ? Of whom shall they ask instruc- 
tions how to get out of this terrible no-thoroughfare ? 
Anguish and discouragement take hold upon the 
fugitives. Louis XVI. himself knocks repeatedly 
at th« door of the house where the relay had been 



164 MABIE ANTOINETTE. 

expected. The Queen also leaves the carriage, and 
wanders up and down, hoping to meet some one who 
may tell her what to do. But there is no one in the 
streets. The lights are out. The citizens are sleep- 
ing quietly in their homes. 

Meanwhile, Drouet, at the Bras d^ Or, is profitably 
employing the time wasted by the royal family at 
the entrance of the upper town. Assisted by two 
or three revolutionists, one of whom is Billaud, the 
future Conventionist, he barricades the bridge with a 
cart turned upside down, and then places himself in 
ambush under the archway leading to it. Without 
Drouet, all would be saved. With Drouet, all will 
be lost. 

Imagine the suppression of a single one of those 
thousand little causes which may have retarded the 
progress of the carriage, and Drouet would not have 
succeeded in his plan, and the royal family would 
have arrived quietly at Montm^dy. A few soldiers, 
or even a few well-inclined civilians, would have 
been sufficient to bring Drouet to his senses, to clear 
away the obstacle from the bridge, and permit the 
carriage to go on to the inn of the G-rand-Monarque, 
on the other side of the river, where the Chevalier 
de Bouille was awaiting it with a change of horses. 
But the King of France and Navarre, the most Chris- 
tian King, the successor of Charlemagne and Saint 
Louis, of Henri IV. and Louis XIV. had no one to 
assist him, and it was before this wretched obstacle, 
a cart upset in front of a tavern door, that a mon- 



THE ABBEST. 165 



archy once formidable and illustrious was to come 
to naught I 

The royal family, which had re-entered the carriage 
after making vain researches in the upper town, 
arrived at the archway leading to the bridge, beside 
the Bras d^ Or. There was the pit into which they 
were to fall headlong. Muskets already cocked were 
thrust through either door, and crossed each other 
within the carriage. " Halt ! " cried several voices 
out of the darkness. "Show your passport! Who 
are you?" Some one replies, "Madame de Korff 
and her family." "It is possible, but it must be 
proved." The passport was shown, and proved all 
right. But the rumor had got about that the carriage 
was suspicious and must be detained. Torches were 
held beneath the King's face. The municipal council 
assembled. The National Guard was out. The 
tocsin sounded. The procurator of the commune, 
M. Sauce, approaching the carriage, said: "The 
municipal council is deliberating on the means of 
permitting the travellers to proceed. It is believed, 
however, that it is our King and his family whom 
we have the happiness to see in our town. ... I 
have the honor to offer them my house, where they 
will be in safety while awaiting the result of the 
deliberations. The crowd in the streets is being 
constantly increased by people summoned from the 
surrounding country by our tocsin, which, in spite of 
us, has been ringing for the last quarter of an hour. 
Your Majesty may possibly be exposed to insults we 



166 MARIE ANTOINETTE. 

cannot prevent, and which would overwhelm us with 
chagrin." 

Louis XVI. did not attempt to resist. He did not 
yet avow that he was the King, but he allowed him- 
self and his family to be led into the house of M. 
Sauce. The fugitives were definitively arrested. 
There was no more hope ! All was lost ! 



VII. 



THE NIGHT AT VARENNES. 

IT is near one in the morning. Behold this van- 
quished man, this prisoner, this sovereign who is 
no longer royal save in name, in the small and 
obscure dwelling of the procurator of a little com- 
mune. See him obliged to parley with his rebellious 
subjects, to plead his cause like an accused person 
before the court. Sorrowful night, without slumber ; 
full of miseries, with its alternatives of hope and dis- 
couragement, with its medley of personages of diverse 
opinions, jostling against each other in the shabby 
room where royalty is at the point of death ! The 
town, astonished at the unwonted tumult which has 
so rudely troubled its repose ; ardent revolutionists 
trembling at the thought that their prey may escape 
them; faithful royalists who dare not express their 
loyal sentiments above their breath ; National Guards, 
still hesitating between the monarchical idea and 
republican passions ; the alarm bell, the pealing 
drums, the illuminated houses, the citizens and com- 
mon people who wake suddenly and can hardly 
credit the unexpected news that the royal family has 

167 



168 MARIE ANTOINETTE. 

been arrested. What a spectacle ! what undreamed- 
of scenes ! How unforeseen and strange are the 
caprices of destiny ! Drouet, who is working in the 
shadow, is the actor who plays the sinister r61e in 
the drama of Varennes. 

Louis XVI. is here what he always has been : 
kind, feeble, wavering, optimistic, judging others by 
himself, unable to believe in human depravity, hoping 
for safety in the midst of the greatest dangers. A 
more energetic man would speak plainly and with 
force. Louis XVI. hesitates, temporizes, thinks he 
may overcome the rebels by gentleness and good 
nature. His language is that of a father, perhaps, 
but assuredly not that of a sovereign. Moreover, he 
is embarrassed by the presence of his family. The 
dangers he would brave willingly were he alone, he 
dreads for his wife, his children, and his sister. What 
he fears above all, and that through kindheartedness, 
is bloodshed. He would not sacrifice the life of a 
single soldier to save himself or his throne. He is 
unwilling that one sword, one sabre, should leave its 
scabbard. The illusions natural to a generous heart 
cause him to fancy that the revolutionists will re- 
pent, and that his paternal counsels will bring back 
again a people gone astray. At Yarennes he will 
continue to hope up to the very minute when he sets 
foot on the step of the berlin which is to take him 
back to Paris. So, too, nineteen months afterward, 
he will hope as he ascends the guillotine, and believe 
that some friendly battalion is coming to his assist- 



THE NIGHT AT VARENNES. 169 

ance, just as, at Varennes, in the house of the procu- 
rator of the commune, he expected, up to the last 
minute, the arrival of the troops of the Marquis de 
Bouille. "Perhaps," he was continually saying to 
himself, " I am about to hear the trumpets of the 
faithful regiment, the Royal-Allemand." The unfor- 
tunate monarch clings to the house of M. Sauce like 
a shipwrecked sailor to a rock. What he dreads is to 
be obliged to return to Paris, that city of afflictions 
and supreme humiliations. Any other destination 
would still leave room for hope, but Paris means 
despair. Therefore when he hears that fatal name, 
it seems to him that the abyss yawns beneath his 
feet. 

He has not yet admitted that he is the King. The 
people say and repeat that they recognize perfectly 
both himself and his family. " Very well," cries the 
Queen ; " if you recognize him as your King, respect 
him ! " This speech leaves Louis XVI. at liberty. 
He throws off his mask. He explains his pro- 
gramme and the object of his journey. For a mo- 
ment his fatherly accent imposes silence on the 
throng which overcrowds the room. In touching 
words he insists on his ardent desire to know the 
real wishes of his people, and on his firm resolution 
to do everything for their welfare, no matter at what 
sacrifice, whether of his inherited rights, his royal 
authority, or his private interests. He ends by pro- 
posing to put himself in the hands of the members of 
the National Guard stationed at Varennes, to be con- 



170 MARIE ANTOINETTE. 

ducted by them to Montm^dy, or any other town 
they choose, providing that it be not Paris. He 
hopes he has convinced his audience, and imagines 
that the National Guard will receive orders from 
him. He says : " I thank the commune of Varennes 
for its good intentions, and I accept the escort it 
offers me. It is my will that horses should be put 
to my carriages, so that I may take my departure." 

Meanwhile the commotion was increasing. People 
poured into the two small rooms which formed the 
first story of M. Sauce's house, where the royal 
family still remained. The alarm bells of neighbor- 
ing communes were answering the tocsin of the 
town. Their National Guards also hastened to lend 
a hand to those of Varennes, where the whole popu- 
lation was afoot. 

It was this tumult which informed the Chevalier 
de Bouilld and Count Raigecourt of the presence of 
the royal family. They tried to rejoin them with 
the horses and postilions of the Duke de Choiseul, 
intended for the relay. Their efforts were vain. 
The bridge was barricaded, and the people menacing. 
The two officers were very nearly arrested. What 
was to be done ? They got on their horses and gal- 
loped off at full speed to tell what had happened to 
the Marquis de Bouille, who was in the neighborhood 
of Stenay. 

Lieutenant Rohrig had the same idea. This young 
officer, who commanded the detachment of sixty 
hussars stationed at Varennes, had not been admitted 



THE NIGHT AT VARENNES. 171 

into the secret of the journey. He believed, simply, 
that he was there to escort a convoy of money. He 
had not seen M. de Goguelat, who would have ap- 
prised him of the truth. Hence, when the rumor of 
the arrival of the royal family reached him, his sur- 
prise was extreme. He thought he was doing his 
duty in leaving his hussars in command of a quarter- 
master, and going himself at full speed to Stenay, 
to warn his general. 

It will be remembered that, at Pont-de-Somme- 
Vesle, the Duke de Choiseul and M. de Goguelat, at 
the head of forty hussars, started for Yarennes with- 
out awaiting the arrival of the royal family, and their 
passage through that place. It will also be remem- 
bered that, at Clermont-en-Argonne, Count Charles 
de Damas, menaced by the population, had been 
obliged to escape, almost alone, and had also turned 
toward Yarennes. The Duke de Choiseul and M. de 
Goguelat, with their forty hussars, and Count Charles 
de Damas with a much smaller escort, reached Ya- 
rennes about an hour after Louis XYI. and his 
family. Instead of charging on the populace, the 
Duke de Choiseul parleyed with them, and entered 
the town by a sort of capitulation. He caused his 
hussars to dismount, and obtained an authorization 
to present himself before Louis XYI. The same per- 
mission was granted to M. de Goguelat and Count 
de Damas. The latter has said : " We went up stairs, 
into the room occupied by the royal family. The 
King, the Queen, and Madame Elisabeth received us 



172 MARIE ANTOINETTE. 

with expressions of the most touching goodness. 
My first care was to say that we must get them aw^ay 
at once, and by force, if necessary. The King an- 
swered me : ' They want me to wait until daylight, 
and to give me an escort. They proposed to send 
one hundred men, but I have agreed that there shall 
be only fifty.' We represented to him that the 
concourse of people at Yarennes, which was small as 
yet, would soon be augmented by the entire popula- 
tion of the neighborhood, summoned by the tocsin 
which was sounding in all directions. We saw they 
had decided to wait. I do not know whether the 
forty hussars brought by M. de Choiseul, if reunited 
with the sixty already in the town, could, at this 
hour, have dispersed the small assemblage ; I do not 
even know whether the forty, entering at a gallop, 
might not have made the people fly, and if a few 
charges in the streets would not have made them 
masters of the town ; but other troops were expected, 
which, meanwhile, were far enough away." An hour 
later, the hussars had joined the citizens, were nearly 
all drunk, and had taken an officer of the National 
Guard as their commander. 

According to Count Louis de Bouill^, it would 
have been better to risk everything than to remain 
shut up in a house, waiting for the population of 
Varennes to be increased by that of the whole sur- 
rounding country, summoned by the tocsin. But 
anything that bore a resemblance to an energetic 
decision was contrary to the character of the King. 



THE NIGHT AT VABENNES. 173 

The advice of Count de Damas was not well received, 
and the unhappy colonel, driven to despair by this 
inaction, could only bow in respectful acquiescence. 

Louis XVI., always credulous, displayed entire 
confidence in the fallacious promises of the munic- 
ipality. His demeanor was firm and tranquil. He 
received with condescension the importunate persons 
who constantly entered the room and questioned him 
in a manner not at all in harmony with the laws of 
etiquette. The Queen and Madame Elisabeth spoke 
often, and with real dignity. The Dauphin was 
sleeping profoundly on the bed. His sister stood 
near Madame de Tourzel. 

Day began to break. The tumult increased every 
minute, and the situation became more and more 
critical. Toward six o'clock there came a new 
glimmer of hope. M. Deslon made his appearance at 
Varennes with sixty hussars, coming from Dun, the 
station between Varennes and Montm^dy. He was 
waiting for the King, with his detachment, when he 
learned from the Chevalier de Bouill^ and the Count 
de Raigecourt, as they passed through Dun, that the 
royal family had been arrested. Not stopping for 
orders, and listening only to his zeal, he started at 
four in the morning, and reached Varennes a little 
before six, having covered more than five full leagues 
in less than two hours. His plan was to attack at 
once, and force his way to the house where the King 
was a prisoner. He had already prepared his detach- 
ment by exhortations and promises, when, at twenty 



174 MARIE ANTOINETTE. 

paces from the town, he saw that barricades had 
been raised which barred the passage of cavalry. 
He obtained for himself alone permission to enter 
M. Sauce's house, and he presented himself before 
Louis XVI. He told him that his sixty hussars were 
at the entrance of Varennes, and ready to shed the 
last drop of their blood for their Sovereign; that 
the barricades prevented them for the moment from 
being useful, but that the Marquis de Bouille was 
momently expected, and that their united forces 
would not fail to deliver the august captives. 

Captain Deslon spoke with the Queen afterwards 
in German, and then took leave of the King, boldly 
asking for his commands in the presence of the crowd 
which thronged the room. Louis XVI. replied that, 
being a prisoner, he had no commands to give. Colo- 
nel de Damas said to the captain in German in as 
low a tone as he could, '' To horse, and charge ! " 
Somebody cried out, " No German ! " and Captain 
Deslon went out. Then he sent a brigadier to look 
for the quartermaster who, since Second Lieutenant 
Rohrig's departure, had commanded the sixty hussars 
of the Varennes detachment. But the brigadier 
returned alone to say that the sixty hussars were 
blockaded in their barracks and could do nothing. 
The double attack planned by M. Deslon, counting 
on an accord between the two detachments, could 
not be accomplished. He remained inactive, awaiting 
the arrival of the Marquis de Bouill^. 

Even after this cruel night the royal family would 



TBI! NIGHT AT var:e:nnes. 175 

not yet despair. They lent anxious ears to all noises 
from outside, thinking constantly that they might 
hear the tread of the Royal- AUemand. But this fatal 
journey was nothing but a succession of misunder- 
standings, false chances, mishaps, and delays. If he 
had been warned two hours sooner, the Marquis de 
Bouill^ could have saved everything. He will reach 
Varennes with his faithful regiment, but an hour and 
a half too late. The two emissaries of Lafayette 
will arrive there before him, bearing the decree of 
the National Assembly, and the royal family will be 
forced to resume the road to Paris. 



yiii. 

THE DEPARTUEE FROM VARENNES. 

BETWEEN six and seven in the morning, M. de 
Romeuf, Lafayette's aide-de-camp, and M. Bail- 
Ion, an officer of the National Guard, arrived from 
Paris at Varennes. They brought the decree by 
which the National Assembly ordained the arrest of 
the royal family wherever they might be found, and 
their raturn, willing or unwilling, to Paris. At the 
moment of their arrival, Louis XVI. was far from 
having lost all hope. The populace appeared more 
and more disturbed. Cries of ^' To Paris ! to Paris ! " 
resounded on every side. But the berlin had not 
been brought up. The King thought he might yet 
gain time, and flattered himself with the hope that 
his saviour, the Marquis de Bouill^, was about to 
come. The crowd, in spite of their revolutionary 
passion, hesitated to use violence to their king. It 
was the presence of the two Parisian emissaries which 
overcame their last scruples. 

With hair and vestments in disorder, M. Baillon 
came first into the room where the royal family were 
confined, and in a panting and broken voice said: 
176 



THE DEPARTURE FROM VARENNES. 177 

" Sire, you know ... all Paris will be cutting each 
other's throats, . . . our wives and children are per- 
haps massacred, . . . you will not go any further. . . . 
Sire, the interests of State . . . yes, Sire, our wives, 
our children. ..." At these words, the Queen, 
showing him the Dauphin, asleep on M. Sauce's bed, 
exclaimed, " And am I not a mother also ? " " In a 
word, what do you want ? " said Louis XVI. " Sire, 
a decree of the Assembly." "Where is it?" "My 
comrade has it." Then M. de Romeuf came for- 
ward, holding the paper in his hand. Having read 
it hastily, Louis XVI. said mournfully, " There is 
no longer a King in France." Then the Queen 
began to speak. She asked M. de Romeuf how he 
could have undertaken such a commission, and attrib- 
uted all her misfortunes to M. de Lafayette. ,M. de 
Romeuf said that M. de Lafayette was far from being 
the enemy of the King and his family. " He is so," 
replied the Queen. " His head is full of his United 
States, his American republic; he will see what a 
French republic amounts to. . . . Well, sir, show 
it to me, this decree of which you are the bearer." 
M. de Romeuf handed the decree to the Queen. 
" Insolent creatures ! " said she, throwing it down 
before reading it all through. The paper fell on the 
bed where the Dauphin and his sister lay asleep. 
The Queen picked it up again quickly, exclaiming, 
as she threw it on the floor, " It would soil my chil- 
dren's bed!" 

M. de Romeuf's attitude did not make the same 



178 MAMIE ANTOINETTE. 

impression on M. de Valory as on M. de Damas. 
According to the account of M. de Valory, the 
severity and arrogance with which the two emis- 
saries fulfilled their mission can hardly be conceived. 
According to that of M. de Damas, on the contrary, 
M. de Romeuf seemed dismayed; his conduct and 
his language gave room for the belief that he was 
urged on by his companion, that he fulfilled his mis- 
sion with reluctance, and that he would have been 
pleased if the royal family could have escaped. 

Meanwhile, M. Baillon was in haste to depart. 
The people, feeling themselves supported by the de- 
cree of the National Assembly, stamped and shouted. 
The two carriages were got in readiness, and threats 
were made that the fugitives would be put into them 
by force if they would not enter voluntarily. The 
King's friends did everything in their power to delay 
the iatal moment. One of the two lady's-maids fall- 
ing ill, the necessary attentions were prolonged as 
much as possible. But the woman regained con- 
sciousness, and there remained no other pretext for 
resisting. Louis XVI., fearing, not for himself, but 
for his family, and believing that if he did not yield, 
the populace would have recourse to acts of violence, 
soon decided to go. " The carriages," M. de Valory 
has said, " were brought before the door of the house. 
Some one came to announce that the illustrious 
victims could enter them. We had to see a father 
made to be adored, a King full of love for his people, 
forced to obey his subjects ; and, my God, what sub- 



THE DEPABTUBE FBOM VABENNES. 179 

jects ! " The Duke de Choiseul and Count de Damas 
wished to accompany the King and his family on 
horseback. But they were arrested and imprisoned 
in spite of the efforts of M. de Romeuf. M. de 
Romeuf himself was arrested as suspicious, and was 
not released until the next day. " The grief which 
he expressed to us," says Count de Damas in his 
account, " the care he took to exculpate himself from 
this abominable mission, led us to wonder why he did 
not destroy the decree he carried, and aid us in delay- 
ing the departure of the King. I think he would 
have done so had he been alone." 

It was eight o'clock in the morning when the 
royal family left Varennes. An hour and a half 
later, the Marquis de Bouill^ with the Royal-Alle- 
mand appeared on the heights which overlook the 
town. 

During the early part of the night the general had 
waited for tidings with feverish anxiety. He and 
his son. Count Louis de Bouille, had mounted their 
horses at Stenay, toward nine in the evening, and 
ridden towards Dun, so as to receive news from the 
King more promptly. At a quarter of a league from 
this town, where their entry might have been too 
much remarked, they went down into a dry ditch 
at the side of the road, leaving their horses behind. 
Count Louis de Bouill^, in a curious memoir, has thus 
described their impressions : " I shall always have be- 
fore my mind that night of long and anxious waiting, 
when the least noise, the least movement, according 



180 MARIE ANTOINETTE. 

as it came or went, penetrated our souls with the 
most vivid impressions of hope or despair. The latter 
sentiment took almost entire possession of us when 
day began to break without our having seen any one 
arrive or received any news. M. de Bouill^, not 
able to explain the cause, but well persuaded that 
some change in his plans must have occurred, re- 
turned to Stenay, so as to be better able to give the 
orders necessitated by circumstances. We were a 
quarter of a league from that town when we per- 
ceived some couriers coming towards us at full 
speed. Our hearts beat with joy, for we supposed 
they were bringing us tidings of the speedy arrival 
of the King. But what was our surprise and grief 
when we recognized the Chevalier de Bouille, Count 
de Raigecourt, and, which was most astonishing of 
all, the officer in command of the detachment of 
Varennes, who announced to us that the King had 
been arrested there at half-past eleven the night 
before, adding nothing else but some very vague 
details. It was then about half-past four in the 
morning." 

The Marquis de Bouill^ could get no clear idea 
of what had happened. Making a final effort, he 
ordered the Royal- AUemand to horse at Stenay, and 
led them to Varennes, hoping that the King might 
even yet be delivered. He distributed four hundred 
louis among his cavaliers, and explained their mis- 
sion in a brief harangue, which was received with 
shouts of '' Long live the King ! " The regiment 



THE DEPARTURE FROM VARENNES. 181 

started at full trot. All along the road they heard 
alarm bells ringing and drums beating from every 
direction. It was half-past nine in the morning when 
they arrived before Varennes. The royal family had 
departed an hour earlier. The officers said it was 
indispensable to refresh the horses, jaded by a march 
of nine leagues at full trot. This observation, which 
was but too well founded, the long start which the 
carriages had already, the fear of once more endanger- 
ing the lives of the royal family while seeking vainly 
to bring them aid, the menacing dispositions of the 
National Guards and the people, the thought that 
four hundred cavalry, worn out with fatigue, could 
not but perish in the midst of a revolutionary mul- 
titude increasing every minute, — all this determined 
the general to give the order for a retreat. " I see 
yet," says his son. Count Louis de Bouille, "the 
expression of grief which altered his whole coun- 
tenance. Never shall I forget that gentle, heart- 
breaking complaint which he addressed to me in 
sorrowful accents some moments later, and which 
alluded to the confidence I had expressed concerning 
the success of this enterprise, and based on the good 
fortune which had attended all the others : ' Well ! 
will you say again that I am lucky?'" At Stenay 
the Marquis de Bouill^ barely escaped arrest. He 
was forced to abandon his regiment, and take shelter, 
with his son, across the frontier. The latter says : 
" We arrived at nightfall at the Abbaye d'Orval, in 
the Emperor's dominions. We found the monks at 



182 MAEIE ANTOINETTE, 

table, astonished by our arrival, and full of conster- 
nation on learning its cause ; and at eleven o'clock 
we terminated that too cruel and too memorable 
day." 

During this time the royal family were painfully 
continuing their journey, stopping at every town. The 
fatal Varennes journey had such results that all the 
incidents of it have occasioned long and bitter con- 
troversies. Each actor in it has sought to explain its 
weak places or its errors; each has sought to shift 
upon some one else the responsibility of failure ; each 
has said : " If such or such a fault had not been com- 
mitted, the august martyrs would have been saved." 
Even yet these discussions interest and excite. The 
vicissitudes of the journey are followed with as much 
anxiety as if they had occurred but yesterday. The 
inventions of romance-writers are not more interest- 
ing than the reality; and of all dramas, the most 
singular, the most interesting, is history. It is not 
the principal actors alone, but the secondary ones, 
and even the supernumeraries, who attract attention. 
All come to life again, all revive, — the characters and 
the scene. The night of Varennes is legendary. 
Sinister gleams throw it up into a strange relief. 
The archway, the bridge, the Bras cf Or inn, the 
house of M. Sauce, all stand out plain before one's 
eyes, and the imagination rests long upon them. 



IX. 



THE RETURN. 



THE royal family had passed nine hours at 
Varennes, and this sojourn sufficed to trans- 
form an almost unknown locality into a historic and 
forever celebrated town. At eight o'clock in the 
morning of June 21, 1791, the berlin which had 
brought the august fugitives, took them back again 
to Paris. The three body-guards were on the coach- 
man's box. The two lady's-maids followed in another 
carriage. People armed with scythes and muskets, 
pikes, pitchforks, and sabres, surrounded the two 
carriages and formed a sinister escort. At first start- 
ing, the horses had been driven at great speed, so as 
to put as great a distance as possible between the 
royal family and the royalist troops whose arrival 
was feared; but afterwards they were allowed to 
walk between the constantly increasing throngs — a 
revolutionary population. They were four hours in 
going from Varennes to Clermont-en-Argonne. It 
was three in the afternoon when they reached Sainte 
Menehould. This town was greatly indebted to 
Louis XVI., who had built it up from its ruins after 
a terrible fire. The inhabitants seemed hardly to 

183 



184 MABIE ANTOINETTE. 

remember this benefit. One miglit liave thought 
Drouet had imparted to them all his demagogic 
passion. Threats, insults, and furious cries greeted 
the royal berlin, and the three body-guards barely 
escaped assassination. 

Not far from Sainte Menehould, opposite the vil- 
lage of fian, and near the mountain of the Moon, 
made famous a year later by the encampment of the 
King of Prussia and the battle of Valmy, a venerable 
old man, wearing the cross of Saint Louis on his 
breast, came up on horseback. It was the Marquis 
de Dampierre. This old ofhcer, a courtier of misfor- 
tune, came to offer homage to his King. The crowd 
was not at all pleased with his loyal sentiments, his 
respectful attitude, his soldierly and noble bearing, 
his white hair. When the old man appeared, the 
image of duty and fidelity, shouts of "traitor," "aris- 
tocrat," flew from mouth to mouth in the revolu- 
tionary escort. " Kill him ! cut his throat ! " cried 
the populace. Some sprang at the horse's bridle ; 
others sought to dismount the rider. He spurred up 
his horse, hoping to make his way through the crowd. 
Two pistol shots were fired at him and missed. He 
returned them with another. Then he was chased 
like a stag at a hunting-match. Muskets were dis- 
charged at him repeatedly, and the old nobleman fell 
dead. His head was cut off and stuck on a pike ; and 
the bloody trophy was thrust before the eyes of the 
royal family. The horrors of the October Days had 
begun anew. 



THE BETUBN. 185 



In the evening, they arrived at Chalons-sur-Marne, 
where they passed the night of June 22-23. This 
journey, so full of incidents, disturbed by so many 
emotions and so much anguish, must have resembled 
a bad dream. The . revolutionists who escorted the 
carriage with cries of fury were like menacing phan- 
toms. The extreme heat, the overpowering fatigue, 
the moral sufferings, still greater than the physical 
ones, made this fatal road a way of humiliations and 
afflictions. That heartrending anguish which Dan to 
places in the midst of his torments — a happy memory 
recurring in days of wretchedness — came from time 
to time to deepen Marie Antoinette's emotions. At 
Chalons-sur-Marne, the royal family alighted in the 
courtyard of the old hotel de ITntendance, where 
they remained all night. The Queen could not 
behold unmoved this edifice where she had been 
received at the time of her arrival in France twenty- 
one years before, in May, 1770. 

Then, what benedictions, what transports, what 
idolatry! With what enthusiasm the charming 
Dauphiness, the ideal maiden, the morning star, had 
been received ! Who would then have thought that 
a people so devoted to their royal family would ever 
become a tribe of regicides and executioners? In 
a single destiny there are often such vicissitudes 
and contrasts, that those who fall from the height 
of prosperity and grandeur into the profound abysses 
of calamity, lose, as it were, the consciousness of their 
identity. Unhappy, and questioning the past as well 



186 MARIE ANTOINETTE. 

as the present, they say, " Could I have been so 
happy, so brilliant, and so flattered?" And thus 
Marie Antoinette might have asked herself in the 
midst of so many cruel reverses ; " Am I truly the 
daughter of the German Caesars, the Queen of France 
and Navarre ? Could I once have shone so brilliant, 
who am now plunged in darkness so profound?" 

Ch^lons-sur-Marne was a sort of oasis in the middle 
of a burning desert. " Ah ! let us breathe awhile," says 
the Count de Valory in his narration. "At Chalons- 
sur-Marne a few moments of consolation came to 
assuage our griefs. But, before attempting to de- 
scribe this soothing contrast, let us pay to a consider- 
able portion of the French people the just tribute 
which is their due. Yes, alongside of frightfully 
barbarous scenes, we often beheld expressive tokens 
of the grief they occasioned to a great number of vir- 
tuous citizens. In spite of every danger, marks of 
love and profound interest escaped them. One could 
see it; their hearts were broken, but crime alone 
dared venture ; crime alone was powerful." 

The majority of the Chalonnaise population were 
royalists. They received the unfortunate monarch 
more like an impatiently expected father than as a 
king made captive by his subjects. It was who 
should solicit the honor of being presented to the 
august family. Ladies and young girls came to 
offer bouquets to the Queen, Madame Elisabeth, and 
Madame Royale. Some proposed that the King 
should save himself alone. A private staircase lead- 



THE RETURN. 187 



ing from the room where the Dauphin slept was 
shown him. But he refused to quit his family, and 
would not accept the means of escape which were 
offered him. 

The royalists of the city likewise debated whether 
they should attempt to take Louis XVI. back to Mont- 
mddy, or to defend him at Chalons. His supper was 
served with a certain pomp in a large hall containing 
many persons, all of whom passed around the table 
without creating the slightest confusion. The emo- 
tion was general. People kissed the King's hands 
respectfully, and multiplied their signs of homage 
toward the Queen and the Princesses. The royal 
family were up nearly all night. When they took a 
brief repose, the Revolution, which did not sleep, 
was preparing to frustrate the monarchical intentions 
of the people of Chalons. The National Guard of 
Rheims, lead by zealous democrats, reached Chalons- 
sur-Marne in the morning. 

It was Thursday, June 23, the feast of Corpus 
Christi. The King had had an altar arranged, and 
was assisting at Mass, which was at the Sanctus^ 
when it was brusquely interrupted by the appearance 
of armed men, who summoned the royal family to 
renew their journey. " To Paris ! to Paris I " cried 
voices in the courtyard. Guns were pointed at the 
windows, and it was demanded that Louis XVI. 
should show himself there. He appeared, calm and 
impassible as ever. " Since I am compelled," said he, 
" I will go to Paris." Nearly the whole population 



188 MARIE ANTOINETTE. 

of Champagne had inarched all night to assemble at 
Chalons, and the break of day was, as it were, their 
hour of rendezvous. " What could the good Cha- 
lonnaises do now?" sadly exclaims M. de Valory. 
" Their will was enthralled ; nothing remained to 
them but sighs ! " The royal family got into their 
carriage and went on their way, escorted by National 
Guards and revolutionary bands. 

At Epernay they made a brief stop for dinner. 
When, according to custom, the mayor presented the 
King with the keys of the town, the president of the 
district addressed a sharp remonstrance to the un- 
happy Prince, ending with these words : " You ought 
to be thankful to the town for presenting its keys to 
a runaway king." They could hardly eat, so threat- 
ening seemed the sentiments of the crowd. Just as 
they were setting off, a woman of the city said to 
Marie Antoinette, " Go, my little beauty ; you will 
see worse times than this." 

A few minutes later, between Epernay and Dor- 
mans, the berlin containing the royal family was 
joined by another carriage from which alighted three 
deputies from the National Assembly, — Barnave, 
Petion, and the Marquis de Latour-Marbourg. They 
had been sent to meet Louis XYI. in the capacity of 
commissioners. 



MARIE ANTOINETTE AND BAENAVE. 

THERE are some proud and generous men in 
whom triumphant sovereigns, with their pomp 
of luxury and power and their train of flatterers, 
inspire a sort of repulsion, and yet who instinctively 
become, so soon as they can gain nothing by it, the 
servants and courtiers of sovereigns in misfortune. 
In times of prosperitj^ they ask themselves, " Where 
is the good in swelling this flood of servilit}^ ? Why 
should I add my voice to this concert of adulation ? " 
But the sight of unhappy, abandoned, and betrayed 
princes inspires in them a mingled tenderness and 
respect. They do not concern themselves to be faith- 
ful when fidelity is rewarded with money and prefer- 
ment ; but when it leads to ruin, poverty, exile, and 
death, fidelity appears to them an austere joy and a 
sacred duty. Barnave was one of these men. He 
had been unmoved by the prestige of success ; the 
majesty of suffering subdued him. Marie Antoinette, 
illuminated by the reflection of the crown diamonds, 
radiant in the Gallery of the Mirrors, with her pat- 
ronizing air, her triumphant beauty, her goddess-like 

189 



190 MARIE ANTOINETTE. 

walk ; Marie Antoinette amid the refined elegance of 
the Little Trianon ; Marie Antoinette surrounded by 
the splendors of a royal f^te, a court ball, a gala 
representation at the Versailles theatre or the Paris 
Opera ; Marie Antoinette, on the day of a solemn 
entry, in a carriage covered with gold, and drawn by 
eight magnificent horses, would have stirred Barnave's 
imagination very little. But the calumniated, insulted, 
threatened Queen ; the Queen dressed in the modest 
gown of a governess; the Queen shut up with her 
family in the dismal carriage, slowly advancing, like 
a hearse, on the road to anguish and humiliations; 
the Queen whose eyes are reddened by tears ; the 
Queen whose locks have been whitened by her grief ; 
the unfortunate Queen invincibly attracts the tribune 
and transforms him into a chevalier. 

Barnave was not quite thirty years old. Born at 
Grenoble, October 22, 1761, of a respected lawyer, 
and a noble and beautiful mother, he belonged to 
the reformed religion. He had early manifested an ar- 
dent and lofty soul. At sixteen he fought a duel in 
behalf of his younger brother, who had been insulted. 
Impatient of injustice, and penetrated with the senti- 
ment of human dignity, he swore to himself to redeem 
his caste from the humiliation to which it was con- 
demned under the old regime. Having been made a 
deputy to the States-General, he at once gained the 
reputation of a great orator. Full of talent and 
energy, he held his own against the most powerful 
antagonists, against Mirabeau himself. In the eyes 



MABIE ANTOINETTE AND BARN AVE. 191 

of the court he passed for an irreconcilable dema- 
gogue, the most to be dreaded among the promotel-s 
of sedition. He who had so often thundered against 
the abuses of the monarchy, who for a moment had 
made the popularity of Mirabeau grow pale, at the 
time when Mirabeau was secretly drawing closer to 
the trembling throne ; who, in appearing before the 
royal family, had perhaps promised himself to stifle 
every sentiment of pity in his soul, could not resist 
the spectacle of misfortune. As M. de Lamartine 
has said, Mirabeau sold himself, and Barnave gave 
himself away. The man of genius was bought with 
heaps of gold ; a glance subdued the man of feeling. 

When the three deputies, sent by the Constituent 
Assembly to meet the royal family and bring them 
back to Paris, stopped the berlin on the road between 
Epernay and Dormans, they decided that two of them 
ought to enter it. The Queen seemed to wish that 
the Marquis de Latour-Marbourg, whose face was not 
unknown to her, should be one. Perceiving this, 
M. de Latour-Marbourg said to her, in an undertone, 
that she could count on him as a faithful subject, but 
that it might be otherwise with Barnave, one of the 
most influential members of the Assembly. He added 
that it would doubtless flatter the young deputy from 
Grenoble to enter the royal carriage, and it would be 
to the Queen's interest to conciliate him. Matters 
were thus arranged: M. de Latour-Marbourg returned 
to the carriage which had brought him and his col- 
leagues from Paris, while Barnave and Pdtion entered 



192 MAEIE ANTOINETTE. 

. e. 

tliat of the King ; the former sat between Louis XVI. 
and Marie Antoinette on the back seat, and the latter 
on the front one, between Madame Elisabeth and 
Madame Royale. The Dauphin sat by turns on the 
knees of his mother, his aunt, and his sister. 

At first the presence of these new travelling-com- 
panions was a somewhat serious embarrassment. The 
Queen did not trouble herself to begin a conversation 
with hem. She drew her veil down and determined 
not t open her mouth during the rest of the journey. 
Barna^ve, far from being offended by this silence, 
maintained the most respectful attitude toward her 
and the King. Louis XVI., who loved to talk, was 
the first to break the ice. With the simple and 
straightforward manner which befitted his character 
he spoke freely of men and things. In his responses, 
Barnave courteously observed the fine distinctions 
required by the difference of rank, and though he 
spoke like a man devoted to liberty and the new 
ideas, he also showed himself loyal to the throne, 
and unwilling to divorce royalty from the nation in 
his projects of reform. 

Marie Antoinette listened. She was struck by 
the wit, tact, and moderation of Barnave. Like the 
woman that she was, she recognized at once in the 
manners, the voice, and the countenance of the young 
deputy, the attentions of a well-bred man, and felt 
herself the object of a discreet and respectful pity. 
She lost not a word of the conversation in which she 
had at first resolved to take no part. Changing her 



MARIE ANTOINETTE AND BARN AVE. 193 

mind, she finally began to speak. Her language, like 
her person, was gentle, charming, and majestic. In 
her voice, as in her glance, there was something 
gracious, kindly, and persuasive, which, coming from 
the heart, went to the heart. Undaunted by tyranny, 
Barnave felt himself vanquished by this strong weak- 
ness, this imposing sorrow. His former hatreds 
melted in an instant, like snow beneath the genial 
rays of sunshine. The idea that he, the citizen the 
plebeian, the unknown young man of two years >ince, 
might by a strange freak of destiny become tht sup- 
port, the protector, the saviour of this beautiful queen, 
once so flattered and so brilliant, — this idea flattered 
his self-love at the same time that it awakened in 
his soul, where democrat and knight-errant blended 
into one, the most elevated sentiments and chivalrous 
aspirations. Sympathy, respect, devotion, flooded his 
soul like a rising tide. Barnave knew well that in 
displaying an interest in Marie Antoinette he was 
voluntarily exposing himself to the greatest danger. 
But this reflection, far from cooling his ardor, made 
it all the more keen and fervent. Whatever hap- 
pens, said he to himself, I will be the defender and 
servant of this woman. Sovereigns in misfortune 
easily experience a sentiment little known to them 
in prosperous days, — that of gratitude. Then they 
prize a word, a tear, a sigh. They recognize, and 
thank Heaven, that human nature is not all cow- 
ardly, and that amidst so many ingrates there are 
here and there honest, devoted, and generous hearts. 



194 MARIE ANTOINETTE. 

Between Dormans and Chateau-Thierry it was 
Barnave who rescued from their torture the three 
body-guards who had been exposed all along the 
road to the rage of a ferocious population. Some 
demons proposed to tie them fast to the wheels of 
the royal carriage, and as soon as they were so 
bound, to put them to death. They were about to 
execute this cannibal-like scheme when the deputy 
from Grenoble leaned out of the carriage door to see 
what was going on. He alighted at once, and had 
influence enough to prevent the crime. 

At the entrance of the faubourg of Meaux a simi- 
lar scene was reproduced. A poor village curd, who 
had been so imprudent as to approach the royal 
carriage, was about to be massacred. The Queen 
uttered a cry. Barnave, throwing himself almost 
out of the carriage door, shouted, "Frenchmen! 
nation of heroes, are you going to become a people 
of assassins?" Madame Elisabeth, touched by this 
noble outburst, caught hold of the young man by the 
skirt of his coat. The powerful voice of the deputy 
from Grenoble availed to save the ecclesiastic from 
death. In speaking of this incident later on, Marie 
Antoinette said that in the most critical moments 
whimsical contrasts were what always struck her; 
and that on this occasion the sight of the pious 
Elisabeth hanging on to Barnave by the tail of his 
coat had saemed the most unexpected and surprising 
thing about it. 

Meanwhile, the emotion of this new defender of 



MARIE ANTOINETTE AND BABNAVE. 195 

the throne continued to increase. What affected 
him in Marie Antoinette was the Queen, the woman, 
and, above all, the mother. He was permitted to 
take the Dauphin on his knees, and his fingers played 
with the child's fair ringlets. "You are not sorry 
to come back to Paris, are you?" he asked him. 
" Oh ! I am happy everywhere," answered the future 
Louis XVII., "provided I am with my father, and 
mamma Queen . . . and with my aunt, my sister, and 
Madame de Tourzel." " It is a sad journey for my 
children, sir," said Louis XVI. " What a difference 
between this one and that we made to Cherbourg I 
At that time calumny had not yet led public opinion 
astray. . . . They may misunderstand me, but they 
shall not change me ; love for my people will always 
remain the first need of my heart, as it is the first of 
my duties." The Dauphin took his father's hand 
and kissed it. Then the good Louis XVI. embraced 
his son tenderly, calling him as of old, "My dear 
little Norman ! " " Don't be sad, father," said the 
child, who was crying. "Another time we will go 
to Cherbourg." 

Profoundly touched, Barnave redoubled his oblig- 
ing attentions. Throughout the journey he was a 
model of delicacy, courtesy, and respect, and he made 
the most- favorable impression on Madame Elisabeth 
as well as on the Queen. Three months later on, 
after the discussion of the Assembly on the colonies, 
the pious sister of Louis XVI. wrote to Madame de 
Raigecourt: "Barnave spoke with so much force that 



196 MARIE ANTOINETTE. 

he carried all before him. That man has great intel- 
ligence and talent ; he might have been a great man 
if he had chosen ; he may be so yet. But the anger 
of Heaven is not yet all spent. How should it be ? 
What are we doing to appease it? " 

Madame Elisabeth was right. The Divine wrath 
was not yet exhausted. Barnave was to be sacrificed 
almost at the same time as the royal victims to whom 
he so generously devoted himself. He was arrested 
as a suspected royalist August 19, 1792, and re- 
mained more than a year in prison before mounting 
the scaffold whereon he was to die at the age of 
thirty-two. His works, published by M. B^renger 
of Dr6me, exhibit fully the elevation of his mind 
and the true nobility of his heart. A captive, he 
remembered with emotion the journey which had 
left such profound traces in his soul ; and in speak- 
ing of this touching and critical time, he said that 
by graving on his imagination the memorable exam- 
ple of the royal misfortunes, it had doubtless aided 
him to support his own more easily. 

Transferred from the prisons of Dauphiny to Paris, 
in November, 1793, to be judged, or, rather, to be 
assassinated by the revolutionary tribunal, Barnave, 
while on the way, addressed a letter to one of his 
sisters, which is like the testament of his soul, where 
stoicism and tenderness went hand in hand. " I am 
still young," he wrote, " and yet I have already 
known, already experienced, all the good and all the 
evil which make up human life. Endowed with a 



MAEIE ANTOINETTE AND BARN AVE. 197 

vivid imagination, I long believed in chimeras ; but I 
am undeceived, and at the moment when I am about 
to quit life, the only things I regret are friendship 
(no one can flatter himself with having tasted its 
sweetness more deeply than I) and the cultivation of 
the mind, the habit of which has often delightfully 
occupied my days." 

Barnave is the Andre Ch^nier of politics. Like 
the young poet, the young orator could say, putting 
his hand to his forehead, " And yet, there was some- 
thing there I " A veil of melancholy and sadness 
covers the destiny of each. It is genius extinguished 
at its dawning; it is youth which succumbs before 
having gathered all its harvest of talent and of glory. 
Barnave died the victim of his chivalrous devotion 
to Marie Antoinette. He did not regret it. On the 
eve of the 10th of August he said to the Queen, on 
seeing her for the last time, " As I am very sure of 
paying one day with my head for the interest with 
which your misfortunes have inspired me, I beg 
of you, Madame, for all recompense, the honor of 
kissing your hand." 



XI. 

petion's account. 

IN Barnave we have just seen a man of mind and 
feeling who, to the ideas and principles of" a 
democrat, united the tact and sense of fitness which 
are lacking in many a nobleman. One might say- 
that the young deputy from Grenoble was in the 
royal carriage by way of contrast to Potion, the other 
commissioner of the Assembly. The one thought 
liberalism in nowise incompatible with the tone and 
manners of good society, while the other fancied that 
all true demagogues should display a certain rudeness 
which the vulgar take for austerity. At bottom, 
Petion was not a bad man. There was even a sort 
of sensibility in his soul. But he had heard so many 
declamations, and he had so often declaimed himself 
against kings and queens, that the least compassion 
for them seemed to him a lack of patriotism. He 
will preserve, then, in the carriage of Louis XVI., 
the same attitude that he would in the Jacobin club 
or the club of the Cordeliers. The royal family will 
see him eat and drink in the berlin in an unman- 
nerly way, throwing his chicken-bones out of the 
■198 



PETION'S ACCOUNT. 199 

carriage door at the risk of sending them into 
the King's face, and obliging Madame Elisabeth to 
pour out his drink without thanking her. It is a 
poetic sentiment which animates Barnave's gentle 
soul, but the motive power of Potion's acts and 
words is the arrogance of an upstart. A provincial 
lawyer, intoxicated with his success in the lower 
court of Chartres and his exploits as a lady-killer 
in the bourgeois circles of his little town, he did not 
doubt that, transplanted to a larger scene, he was 
destined to still more brilliant triumphs. Proud of 
his position as deputy, and still prouder of his title 
and mission as envoy of the Assembly, he felt himself 
a sovereign, and delighted in treating Louis XVI. as 
his equal, not to say as his inferior. He desired to 
teach power a lesson. He spoke ex cathedra. He 
gave a course in politics. He disputed, he perorated, 
he domineered. The account he has left of his jour- 
ney with the royal family gives the best notion of his 
incredible presumption. This document, which was 
seized with Potion's other papers when he fled after 
May 31, 1793, is written entirely in his own hand. 
M. Mortimer-Ternaux published it for the first time in 
his Histoire de la Terreur. 

The narrative opens magniloquently : " The King's 
carriage stops. We go to meet it. An usher pre- 
cedes us, and the ceremonial is conducted in an im- 
posing manner. As soon as we are perceived, some 
one cries, 'There are the deputies of the National 
Assembly!' Everybody hastens to make way for 



200 MAEIE ANTOINETTE. 

US. The cortege was superb. There were National 
Guards on horseback and on foot, with uniforms and 
without them, with arms of all descriptions. The 
sun, near its setting, shed its light upon this fair 
ensemble in the midst of peaceful fields. I can give 
no idea of the sentiment of respect with which we 
were surrounded." 

Petion was thirty-two years old. He belonged to 
that category of puppies, vain even to artlessness, 
who believe themselves irresistible, and imagine that 
they produce a profound impression on all women 
whatsoever. Lauzun had not more self-confidence 
than he. Reader, no matter how prodigious, how 
mad, how ridiculous, you may suppose Potion's fatuity 
to have been, it will still surpass your expectation. 
He fancied — could you believe it? — that Madame 
Elisabeth, Madame Elisabeth herself, the most holy, 
the most austere of women, experienced a strong 
physical attraction toward him; he thought he saw 
in this Princess a Circe, against whom it was neces- 
sary for him, for Petion, if you please, to forearm his 
rigid virtue. Listen to him: "Madame Elisabeth 
fastened her soft eyes upon me with that air of 
languor given by unhappiness, and which inspires a 
lively interest. Our glances met several times with 
a sort of understanding and attraction. The moon 
began to shed her mild radiance. Madame Elisabeth 
took Madame Royale upon her knees ; afterwards 
she placed her half on her own knee and half on 
mine. Madame Royale fell asleep. I stretched out 



PETION'S ACCOUNT, 201 

my arm ; Madame Elisabeth stretched hers out above 
mine. Her glances seemed to me more affecting ; I 
perceived a certain relaxation of constraint in her 
demeanor; her eyes were moist, their melancholy 
blended with a sort of sensuous charm. I may 
deceive myself, — the sensibility of grief is easily 
mistaken for that of pleasure, — but I think that if 
we had been alone, that if, as by enchantment, every 
one else had vanished, she would have sunk into my 
arms." 

This supposition flattered the sensual and austere 
demagogue, and at the same time it roused his indig- 
nation. He adds: "I was so astounded with this 
state of affairs that I said to myself : What ! can this 
be a trick to buy me at such a price ? Would Madame 
Elisabeth agree to sacrifice her honor in order to 
make me lose mine? Yes; nothing costs too much 
at court ; they are capable of anything. The Queen 
could have arranged the plan. And then, consider- 
ing her unaffected bearing, and self-love also insinu- 
ating that she might find me attractive, I became 
persuaded, and took pleasure in the thought, that she 
was agitated by keen emotions, that she would her- 
self desire that no witnesses were present." 

Jean Jacques Rousseau, behold your worthy pupil ! 
These arethe ideas, if not the style and talent, of an 
adept of the N'ouvelle Heloise, But let pure demo- 
crats be reassured. Potion will not allow himself to 
weaken. " I took good care," he says, " not to com- 
promise my character. I granted all I could to what 



202 MABIE ANTOINETTE. 

I believed to be Madame Elisabeth's condition ; but, 
nevertheless, without granting enough to permit her 
to think, or even to suspect, that anything would 
alter my opinions. I think she understood it wonder- 
fully, and that she saw that the most seductive temp- 
tations would be in vain, for I remarked a certain 
cooling off, a certain severity, which in women often 
springs from irritated self-love." 

The force of truth is such that even from Potion 
himself it wrests some just remarks. This enemy of 
kings and courts, this systematically hostile observer, 
is astonished to find that something good may be 
found in royal souls by making diligent search. He 
recognized in his travelling-companions "an air of 
simplicity and of family" which pleased him. He 
deigned to say of Louis XVI. : " Those who do not 
know the King might be tempted to mistake his 
timidity for stupidity. But they would be in error. 
It is very seldom that anything unbecoming escapes 
him, and I have not heard him make a foolish 
remark." 

Madame Elisabeth inspired him with a sort of 
involuntary admiration, in spite of the odious and 
stupid surmises he had just made concerning her. 
" I should be very much surprised," he says, " if she 
had not a good and beautiful soul, although one 
deeply imbued with the prejudices of birth and 
spoiled by the vices of a court education." There 
is even a moment when his hatred and inveterate 
prejudices against Marie Antoinette give place to 



PETION'S ACCOUNT. 203 

a less unjust judgment. Inflexible where the Queen 
is concerned, he becomes almost humane toward the 
mother. "The Queen," he said, "talked with me 
about the education of her children. She spoke like 
the mother of a family and as a sufficiently well- 
instructed woman. She said that no flattery should 
be offered to princes, and that it was essential never 
to tell them anything but the truth." But he quickly 
repents of his amiability. "I have since learned," 
he adds, "that this is the fashionable jargon in all 
the courts of Europe." And he ends by declaring 
that "the Queen had not, in any sense, either the 
bearing or the attitude befitting her position." 

Marie Antoinette, in her conversation with Potion, 
defended her husband's cause energetically. "Peo- 
ple blame the King very much," said she ; " but they 
do not really understand the situation in which he 
is placed. He is constantly told contradictory stories, 
and he does not know what to believe. Opposing 
and mutually destructive counsels are given him, one 
after the other; and he does not know what to do. 
People complain to him about private misfortunes 
and murders at the same time. It is all this which 
determined him to leave the capital. The crown is 
in suspense over his head. You are not ignorant that 
there is a party which does not desire a king, and 
that this party is increasing daily." 

Petion was already republican in theory, but in 
practice he still remained a royalist. He replied that 
his principles and sentiments inclined him to prefer 



204 MARIE ANTOINETTE. 

a republican form of government to any other, but 
added that there were certain republics which he 
would like still less than the despotism of a single 
man. Petion belonged to that class of persons who 
like to play with fire, and who say naively to the 
Revolution, " Thou shalt go no further ! " as if 
the Revolution had a mind to listen to them. " It 
is not possible," he went on, "to persuade one's self 
in good faith that the republican party is to be 
dreaded. It is composed of wise and high-principled 
men who know how to estimate probabilities, and 
who would not risk a general panic which might as 
easily lead to despotism as to liberty." 

Unhappy Petion! How quickly he will descend 
the incline which leads to the abyss! He will be 
deadly to the very end, — deadly to the royal family 
and to himself ; he is marked with the seal of fatality, 
like almost all the actors in the great revolutionary 
drama. On the 10th of August in the following 
year, he will combine the parts of Judas and Pontius 
Pilate. At nightfall he will give Louis XVI. the 
kiss of peace, and at daybreak next morning he 
will wash his hands of the approaching catastrophe. 
He will vote for the King's death, but with a re- 
prieve and an appeal to the people, and perhaps this 
mitigation of his vote may be caused by the recol- 
lection of his journey with the unhappy sovereign. 
Condemned himself on May 31, 1793, at the same 
time with the Girondins, he will take to flight ; he 
will perish miserably in the waste lands near Bor- 



PETION'S ACCOUNT. 205 

deaux, and his body will be found unburied and half 
devoured by wolves. But we will not anticipate. 

Let us return to June 23, 1791, and to the road 
traversed by the royal berlin. It reached Dormans 
between midnight and one o'clock, June 23-24. 
"We got out," says Potion, "at the inn where we 
had eaten a morsel in coming, and this inn, though 
passable for a small place, was hardly fit for the 
reception of the royal family. I confess, however, 
that I was not sorry to let the court know what an 
ordinary tavern is like. It was difficult to sleep, 
because the National Guards and all the people of 
the neighborhood kept up a constant singing, danc- 
ing, and drinking." 

They left Dormans June 24, between five and six 
in the morning. During the day they Stopped at 
Fertd-sous-Jouarre. The mayor of the town, M. Reg- 
nard, had sent word that he would be happy to enter- 
tain the august travellers, and Louis XYI. accepted 
the invitation. Here, as at Ch^lons-sur-Marne, the 
royal family experienced some consolation. Madame 
Regnard received them with signs of the most pro- 
found respect. "Madame," said Marie Antoinette, 
accosting her, " you are doubtless the mistress of the 
house." The mayor's wife returned, with perfect 
tact, "I was so before Your Majesty entered it." 
The house was charming, and had a terrace on the 
shore of the Marne, where Madame Elisabeth chatted 
with Potion before dinner. The King himself came 
out on this terrace to invite the three commissioners 



206 MARIE ANTOLNETTE. 

of the Assembly to share his repast. All three 
refused. Madame Regnard and her husband were to 
pay dear later on for the honor and happiness of 
having testified their regard for the royal family. 
On quitting this house, so loyally hospitable, the 
Queen said to the Dauphin, " My son, thank Madame 
for her attentions ; tell her I shall never forget it." 
" Mamma thanks you for the care you have taken of 
us," said the child, " and I love you very much for 
having given pleasure to mamma." 

They set off again at five in the afternoon. The 
sun was still above the horizon when they arrived 
before Meaux, that city still so full of souvenirs of 
the great Bossuet, whose sublime voice alone would 
have been capable of celebrating the afflictions of the 
martyr King and Queen. They alighted at the 
bishop's palace, where they spent the night of June 
24-25. After Louis XVI. and Marie Antoinette 
had taken supper, they had a conversation with 
Petion, at the end of which they summoned the three 
body-guards who had accompanied them ever since 
they quitted Paris, — MM. de Maiden, de Valory, and 
de Moustier. " At Dormans," the King said to them, 
" M. Petion proposed to me to induce you to make 
your escape, disguised as National Guards. At that 
time the Queen and I refused, because we thought 
that it was secretly intended either to assassinate 
you behind our backs, or to have you arrested and 
handed over to some military commission ; so we said 
nothing to you about the proposition. But M. Petion 



PETION'S ACCOUNT. 207 

has just renewed it, and added the barbarous an- 
nouncement that at Paris your lives would belong to 
the people, so that, since it might be horrible for us 
to behold servants whom we appear to love killed 
before our eyes, he thought he ought to warn us that 
there was not a moment to be lost if escape was to be 
attempted. Possibly, in renewing his offer to aid 
you, he is acting in better faith than we supposed. 
It is for you to determine whether to profit by it." 

The three faithful servants fell on their knees 
before their kind master. " Sire," cried one of them, 
the interpreter of the thoughts of all, "our lives 
have been consecrated to Your Majesties. You have 
deigned to accept the offering. We know how to 
die for you ; it would be a thousand times easier than 
to separate from you. Do not doubt. Sire, that death 
awaits us, no matter where we turn. Our choice 
could not be doubtful. Deign to permit your faith- 
ful guards still to accompany you. Grant them to 
set off with you to-morrow. May our tears obtain 
this last grace." Louis XVI., weeping, granted the 
heroic prayer of the three body-guards. 

Then the Queen drew her tablets from her pocket 
to write down their baptismal names and those of 
their fathers, mothers, sisters, and brothers, and also 
those of any of their relatives and friends whom, on 
her invitation, they dared recommend to Their Majes- 
ties. "If we have the grief to lose you," said Marie 
Antoinette afterwards, "and if we do not succumb 
ourselves beneath the blows of our enemies, be cer- 



208 MABIE ANTOINETTE. 

tain that our benefits will search out your families. 
I myself will apprise them of their misfortune, and 
at the same time I will let them know the sentiments 
toward you which can never leave our hearts." 

They left Meaux June 25, at six in the morning. 
It was the last day of the fatal journey. " Never," 
says Potion, " was a day longer and more fatiguing. 
The heat was extreme, and we were enveloped in 
clouds of dust. The King offered me something to 
drink several times, and poured it out himself. We 
were twelve whole hours in the carriage without 
quitting it for a moment." 

A little above Pantin the grenadiers of the National 
Guard made their appearance. They disputed with 
the cavalry of the escort on the subject of the places 
they were to occupy. The grenadiers obliged the 
cavalry to fall back, and rough words passed between 
them. An affray seemed imminent. Bayonets were 
brandished around the carriage, the windows of which 
were kept down. According to Potion there was 
reason to fear for the Queen's life. The most ignoble 
insults, the most infamous epithets, the entire vocab- 
ulary of Billingsgate, were emptied on her. She was 
treated as one would not treat a street-walker, a 
prostitute. " She need not show us her son," cried 
one ; " he is not her husband's." The Dauphin, 
frightened by the noise and the glitter of the weap- 
ons, began to cry with fear. Marie Antoinette, who 
was in tears, tried to reassure him. At the same 
time, the crowd were furiously demanding the death 



PETION'S ACCOUNT. 209 

of the body-guards. " Down with the yellow coats ! " 
was shouted on all sides. Some proposed tying them 
to the wheels; others, to cut them in pieces; still 
others, to burn them alive. The carriage was stopped, 
and the body-guards were about to perish under the 
blows of the assassins. The energetic intervention 
of Barnave saved them. " Drive on," said he to the 
postilions ; " drive on, I tell you ! I am in command 
here." They started on again, the horses going at 
a foot-pace ; the crowd, which constantly increased, 
became still more hostile. At last they entered Paris. 
There lay the greatest danger. 



XII. 



THE EETURN TO THE TUILEEIES. 

ON this 25th of June, 1791, all Paris is afoot. 
It is six o'clock in the evening. The berlin 
containing the royal family arrives at the Barri^re de 
I'Etoile, and goes down the Champs-Elysees to re- 
enter the Tuileries. Hundreds of thousands of spec- 
tators are looking on at the humiliation of royalty. 
The carriage makes its way slowly between a double 
row of National Gu'ards. The entry is still more 
sinister than that of October 6. The monarchy is 
more vanquished, more cast down. They had set off 
in the night of Monday and Tuesday, June 20-21. 
They returned the following Saturday in broad day- 
light, but this light is more melancholy than that 
darkness. At the moment of departure, night meant 
hope. At the hour of return, day meant despair. 
Ah! that Palace of the Tuileries, how menacing it 
rises in the distance, with its architecture grandiose 
and severe ! In vain the setting sun illumines it 
with its ardent flames ; it is sombre, forbidding, fatal. 
In former days the solemn entries into the good city 
of Paris, the superb capital, were so brilliant, so tri- 

210 



E BETUBN TO THE TUILEBIES. 211 



of the boi There were such joyous shouts, such ac- 
was shon all along the way ! The crowd then 
- to the ^' ^e august family with looks of love, ten- 
derness, admiration, and rapture ! And Marie Antoi- 
nette, happy in being loved, thanked them with such 
a charming smile ! The soldiers presented arms. 
Mothers took their little ones in their arms, and 
pointed out to them the King, the Queen, the Dau- 
phin, the young Madame Royale. The drummers 
beat the general alarm. The military bands played 
Vive Henri IV. The flags were respectfully inclined 
before the sovereign. The body-guards with their 
brilliant armor, the Swiss in red uniforms, the civil 
and military households of the King and Queen, the 
Princes and Princesses, the great lords with their blue 
ribbons, the great ladies in dazzling toilets and spar- 
kling with precious stones, — all this resplendent 
spectacle and pomp of luxury and power ravished a 
faithful people and filled them with enthusiasm. 

How all is changed to-day ! What a doleful scene 
is shone on by this sun of June ! Scorn in the place of 
respect; hatred in the place of love. Truly funereal 
procession ! Supreme humiliation of the King and 
of royalty ! Placards have been posted up on which 
is written : " Any one who applauds the King will be 
beaten ; any one who insults him will be hanged." 
Such is the change in men's ideas that a proclamation 
like this is considered an act of magnanimity. 

At first the regulation is obeyed. At the Barriere 
de I'Etoile the populace is malicious rather than furi- 



212 MAE IE ANTOINETTE. 

ous. Though eyes glow with a savage flame, mouths 
are silent. Something like cool indifference modifies 
the hatred. But as they draw nearer to the Tuileries, 
the order to keep silence is violated. Curses and 
insults resound on every side. The heat is oppres- 
sive. The clouds of hot dust raised by the tramp of 
such a multitude envelops them like a mourning 
veil. The royal berlin winds through a forest of 
bayonets. Do you see all these faces, made savage 
by anger and disdain, — these hats kept on in token 
of insolence and rebellion ? Do you see the National 
Guards reversing their arms as at a funeral? Through 
these billows of dust do you see the great captive, 
the vanquished man, the King ? The King, who like 
one accused, — like a criminal, — will be forced hum- 
bly to bow his head and implore pardon from his 
subjects ! Do you recognize the woman who, for her 
part, never lowers her head, who is pursued by fate, 
who sees misfortune hovering about her like a raven- 
ing vulture ; but who, amid the most horrible crises 
and the most terrifying dangers, never loses that 
lofty courage which is her ancestral heritage, and 
which is like the very foundation and essence of her 
soul? 

If Marie Antoinette alone had been in danger, she 
would have been as unmoved now in crossing the 
Place Louis Quinze as she will be two years later 
when she crosses the same accursed spot on her way 
to the scaffold. What occupies her is not her own 
safety, but that of her husband, her children, her sis- 



THE BETUBN TO THE TUILEBIES. 213 

ter-in-law, and her attendants. For herself, nothing 
moves her, nothing makes her turn pale. She soars, 
intrepid sovereign that she is, above danger, above 
suffering, above death. This cruel throng whose 
cries she hears, inspires her not with anger, but with 
pity. If she does not remain absolutely unmoved, it 
is because she is thinking about her children. The 
Dauphin's forehead is dripping with sweat. He can 
hardly breathe. " See, gentlemen," says the unhappy 
mother to the National Guards, who march on either 
side the carriage, " see what a state my poor chil- 
dren are in; they are choking." "We will choke 
you in another fashion ! " mutters an infamous voice. 
The carriages arrive at the revolving bridge at the 
end of the Place Louis Quinze, opposite the Tuileries. 
It is closed as soon as they cross it. But the garden 
is packed with an innumerable crowd. The danger 
increases as they come nearer to the palace. It is 
a question whether they will reach it safe and sound, 
and the same emotions are caused by the thought of 
re-entrance as had been by that of going away. An- 
guish at the departure, anguish at the return. The 
greatest perils are incurred by the three body-guards, 
who have remained on the box of the royal berlin. 
The exasperated crowd clamor loudly for their death. 
Is the blood of these faithful companions of the fatal 
joarney to spurt out on the Queen's robe ? Are these 
three devoted servants to be the victims cast to the 
tigerish rabble? The carriages which have slowly 
and with difficulty opened their way, arrive at last 



214 MABIE ANTOINETTE. 

before the three steps of the terrace which separates 
the palace from the garden. At once the assassins 
spring towards the three body-guards, anxious to 
seize their prey. The royal family are requested to 
alight at once so as to avoid the sight of the murders 
about to be committed. But in spite of the danger 
they incur themselves, they will not stir, hoping that 
their presence may save their wretched servants. 
The murderers, in redoubled rage, begin to scramble 
up to the coachman's box, where MM. de Moustier, 
de Maiden, and de Valory still remain. Fearing lest 
the prolongation of the struggle may imperil the lives 
of the King and his family, the three victims resolve 
to end it by voluntarily coming down and delivering 
themselves to the assassins. 

Madame Elisabeth, perceiving this movement, 
passes her arm through a window in the front of 
the berlin and seizes the skirt of M. de Valory 's 
waistcoat, to prevent him from jumping down. But 
he and his comrades reach the ground, and offer- 
ing themselves as holocausts to the crowd, advance 
heroically into the midst of their murderers. They 
are seized and thrown down, dragged about by the 
hair, and covered with blows. Fortunately, some 
honest National Guards intervene, and, wresting the 
three body-guards from the savages, conduct them, 
but not without great difficulty, into the palace. 

The royal family then leave the carriage. The 
distance is short between the three steps of the ter- 
race where the carriage had stopped and the door 



THE BETURN TO THE TUILEBIES. 215 

of the Pavilion of the Horloge. But the terrace, 
like the garden, is thronged by an immense crowd, 
whose manner is so threatening, especially toward the 
Queen, that the passage, short though it be, is dan- 
gerous enough. The King is the first one to alight. 
The people are silent, but keep their hats on. Only 
one man, M. de Guilhermy, a member of the National 
Assembly, uncovers respectfully. " Put your hat on 
again ! " is shouted from all sides. But he throws it 
into the midst of the crowd, too far to be brought 
back to him, and cool and fearless, remains respectful 
amidst universal insult, his face calm and his head 
bare. 

Marie Antoinette next leaves the carriage. At 
sight of her, hostile mutterings become audible. 
During all this time the National Assembly is in 
session close to the Tuileries. It does not choose to 
interrupt its business on account of a king. A king 
is such a small affair nowadays. Still, a few deputies, 
some through respect, and others through curiosity, 
have come to the terrace to witness the arrival of 
the royal family. Among them is one who favors 
the new ideas, the Vicomte de Noailles. He hastens 
to approach the Queen and offer her his arm. Marie 
Antoinette refuses the protection of an adversary, 
and asks that of a deputy of the right, whom she 
has just recognized. "The dignity of the empire," 
as M. de Lamartine has said, " is found entire in the 
gesture and the heart of a woman." 

One of the officers of the King's bedchamber, M. 



216 MABIE ANTOINETTE. 

Hue, manages to reach the carriage, and holds out 
his arms to receive his master's son. The eyes of 
the little Prince fill with tears on perceiving this 
faithful servant. But in spite of all M. Hue's efforts 
to seize the Dauphin, an officer of the National Guard 
takes possession of the child, carries him quickly into 
the palace, and sets him down on the table in the 
council hall of the Ministers. 

Separated from her son, Marie Antoinette has a 
moment of great anxiety concerning the child's fate. 
She enters the palace with the King, Madame Elisa- 
beth, and Madame Royale. Oh ! what a doleful re- 
entrance. Never has a dungeon seemed more fatal 
to prisoners. No; this is no longer a palace, it is the 
vestibule of the scaffold. One might say the royal 
family passed under the Caudine Forks in entering 
the Pavilion of the Horloge. They ascend the great 
staircase to the first story. Before reaching their 
apartments they cross the hall, where the three body- 
guards are already prisoners, and make signs testify- 
ing their emotion and their joy at seeing them still 
alive. M. de Maiden had received several bayonet 
thrusts. M. de Moustier had been struck in the 
neck with the blade of an axe. M. de Valory, 
knocked down with the butt end of a musket and 
dragged around by his hair, had been extremely 
bruised. They were rejoiced to ha>e suffered for 
their King and Queen. " What masters ! " exclaimed 
M. de Yalory in his narrative, " and how well they 
merited that one should die for them ! " 



THE BETURN TO THE TUILEEIES. 217 

At last, behold Louis XVI. once more witliin the 
palace of his fathers. He reappears there a van- 
quished man, whose crown is no longer anything 
but a derisive bauble. This is not a real monarch ; 
it is only the phantom of a king. And yet the force 
of habit is such that the old etiquette machine works 
still, as if its momentum were not quite exhausted. 
Louis XVI. finds himself in his apartments as if 
nothing had happened since the beginning of the 
week. He is served as usual; it seems as though 
he might have just returned from a hunting excursion. 
The reception in his bedchamber will take place with 
all customary ceremony. 

Camille Desmoulins, in Number 83 of his journal, 
the Revolutions de France et de Brabant, thus at- 
tempted to cast ridicule upon the King's return to 
the Tuileries : " When Louis XVI. re-entered his 
apartment, he threw himself into an armchair, say- 
ing, ' It is devilish hot.' Then, ' I made a wretched 
journey there. But it had been running in my head 
this long time.' Afterwards, looking at the National 
Guards, who were present, ' It was a foolish thing I 
did ; I grant it. But why shouldn't I play tricks as 
well as any one else? Let some one bring me a 
chicken ! ' One of his valets-de-chambre came in. 
' Ah ! you're there, are you ? And I too, I'm here ! ' 
The chicken was brought. Louis XVI. ate and 
drank with an appetite that would have done honor 
to the King of Cocagne." 

In Number 84 of his journal, Camille Desmoulins 



218 MARIE ANTOINETTE. 

complained that the National Assembly treated the 
King, now become a prisoner, altogether too well. 
" It will not do to dance attendance," he said, " to 
suffer a criminal to get into a bath on the arrival of 
the commissioners. It will not do to wait until he is 
in his bath-tub, and rings a bell to admit the National 
Assembly like a bath-waiter. Did any one ever hear 
of judges writing down their names, and sending 
them up by a prison porter, to ask humbly for an 
interview with a criminal, and his hour for being 
interrogated ? Never was there such a contemptible 
action." 

If anger and irony like this is what the revolu- 
tionists feel, the royalists experience profound sad- 
ness and compassion. In order to get an idea of it, 
read this passage from the Memoirs of the Marquis 
de Ferri^res, describing a scene that took place as 
Louis XYI. was re-entering his capital in humilia- 
tion: "An old military man, a chevalier of Saint 
Louis, was wandering from one place to another, the 
prey of a most tormenting anxiety. Reaching a 
retired spot, he was surprised to see one of the 
Parisian horse-guards, who was weeping. The old 
military man approached him. ' Comrade,' said he, 
' who could have distressed you to such a point as 
this ? ' ' Ah ! sir,' answered the horse-guard, sobbing, 
' I have abandoned my post ; I could not keep it. 
The sight I have just seen has tortured my heart. 
And I am not the only one ; for my poor horse, 
which I took back to the stable, will not eat.' The 



THE RETURN TO THE TUILERIES. 219 

old military man, with tears in liis eyes, rummaged in 
his pocket. ' My friend, I have only these eighteen 
francs ; do me the favor to accept them.' The horse- 
guard repelled them with his hand, crying sorrow- 
fully, ' Ah ! I see very well that no one believes 
any longer in a soldier's honor ! ' The old soldier 
threw himself into the arms of this worthy man. 
Both of them, in expressive silence, mingled in this 
embrace their profound despair and the lively mutual 
esteem they had conceived for each other." Does 
not this naive anecdote recall the legends of the 
Middle Ages ? 

The Assembly had passed that morning a decree, 
the first article of which runs thus : " As soon as the 
King shall arrive at the Palace of the Tuileries, a 
guard shall be provisionally assigned him, which, 
under the orders of the commandant general of the 
Parisian guard, shall secure his safety and be answer- 
able for his person." Other articles had decreed a 
similar guard for the heir-presumptive, and one for 
the Queen. Moreover, the Assembly ordained that 
all those who had accompanied the royal family in 
their flight should be put under arrest, and interro- 
gated. The King was provisionally suspended from 
the functions of royalty, and the Minister of the 
Interior was ordered to proclaim the decree instantly, 
by sound of trumpet, in every quarter of the capital. 

Night has come. The fugitives are under a sort 
of hallucination. Their ears are still deafened with 
the incessant clamor of the last four days. Worn 



MARIE ANTOINETTE. 



out by fatigue and emotions of every kind, they are 
going to seek repose. But the rest they will take is 
a rest full of anguish. If he is still living as a man, 
Louis XVI. is dead as a king. They promise him 
that he shall rise again. But at what price, and 
what manner of precarious life will it be which they 
throw him as a bounty after galvanizing his royal 
power? He no longer dares either to act or speak. 
He hardly dares to breathe. If he sighs, it is 
reckoned to him as a crime. A tear would be his 
condemnation. Day and night he must listen with- 
out complaining to the obscene and cruel talk that 
goes on beneath his windows. The garden of the 
Tuileries is now only a revolutionary camp, where 
the hawkers of journals and pamphlets cry their 
wares, where conspirators plot, and the regicidal 
knife is slowly sharpened. That beautiful garden, 
the former meeting-place of elegance and fashion, 
is as much an arena of anarchy and disorder as that 
of the Palais Royal. Just beside it, on the site of the 
future rue de Rivoli and rue de Castiglione, is the 
Hall of the Manage, where the National Assembly, 
the inheritor of the rights of the crown, holds its ses- 
sions as sovereign. It is in the narrow space between 
the Place du Carrousel and the Hall of the Manege 
that royalty writhes and agonizes painfully. The 
palace and the garden, the lanes which bound them 
on the west, the place which bounds them on the 
east, all are fatal, all breathe discord and rebellion. 
One might say that threatening voices sound from 



THE RETURN TO THE TUILERIES. 221 

every stone and tree. There is something deadly in 
the atmosphere. Catherine de' Medici was right 
in dreading the Tuileries as a residence foredoomed 
to calamities. In this palace, or better, in this 
prison, the heir of Saint Louis, of Henri IV., and 
Louis XIV. is no longer a king : he is a hostage. 



THIRD PART. 
THE CLOSE OF 1791. 



THE CAPTIVITY IN THE TUILERIES. 

rT"^HE next morning after the return from Va- 
JL rennes, June 26, 1791, the Dauphin said on 
waking: "I had a frightful dream. I was sur- 
rounded by wolves and tigers and savage beasts that 
wanted to eat me up." It was not the child only, 
but the whole royal family, which had been violently 
disturbed by the shock of the fatal journey. They 
awoke captives in the Tuileries. They could form 
no illusions on that head. The palace was a prison. 
Wishing to assure himself if he were really a captive, 
the King presented himself at a door where a sentry 
was on guard. 

" Do you recognize me ? " asked Louis XVI. 

" Yes, Sire," replied the sentry. 

And the King was obliged to go back. 

The master of the Tuileries was no longer the 
sovereign, but M. de Gouvion, the major-general of 

222 



THE CAPTIVITY IN THE TUILEBIES. 223 

the National Guard and the executor of M. de 
Lafayette's commands. He had asked for and ob- 
tamed the right to take whatever precautions he 
deemed necessary, and notably that of walling up 
several doors in the interior of the palace. No one 
could enter it without a card of admission obtained 
from him. Even those engaged in the domestic 
service of the royal family were searched on going 
out and coming in. Madame Elisabeth wrote to 
Madame de Bombelles, July 10 : " They have estab- 
lished a sort of camp beneath the windows of the 
King and Queen, lest they should jump down into 
the garden, which is hermetically sealed and filled 
with soldiers." A real camp was, indeed, to be seen 
there, with tents and all else necessary to the instal- 
lation of troops. Sentries were posted everywhere, 
even on the roofs. 

The Queen's women found the greatest difficulty 
in getting access to her apartments. It had been 
resolved that she should have no personal attendant 
except the lady's-maid who had acted as a spy before 
the journey to Varennes. A portrait of this person 
was placed at the foot of the staircase leading to the 
Queen's rooms, so that the sentinel should permit no 
other woman to enter. Louis XVI. was obliged to 
appeal to Lafayette in order to have this spy turned 
out of the palace, where her presence was an outrage 
on Marie Antoinette. 

This espionage and inquisition pursued the unfor- 
tunate Queen even into her bedroom. The guards 



224 MAEIE ANTOINETTE. 

were instructed not to lose sight of lier by night or 
day. They took note of her slightest gestures, lis- 
tened to her slightest words. Stationed in the room 
adjoining hers, they kept the communicating door 
always open, so that they could see the august cap- 
tive at all times. One day, Louis XVI. having closed 
this door, the ofBcer on guard reopened it. '' Those 
are my orders," said he. " I will open it every time. 
If Your Majesty closes it. Your Majesty will give 
3^ourself a useless trouble." 

Marie Antoinette caused the bed of her lady's- 
maid to be placed close to hers, so that, as it could 
be rolled about and was provided with curtains, it 
might prevent her being seen by the officers. One 
night, while the maid was sleeping profoundly, and 
the Queen sitting up, the officer entered the bed- 
chamber to give some political advice to his sover- 
eign. Marie Antoinette told him to speak low, so 
as not to disturb the sleeping woman. She awoke, 
however, and was seized with mortal terror at seeing 
an officer of the National Guard so near the Queen. 
"Be calm," Marie Antoinette said to her, "and do 
not rise. The person whom you see is a good French- 
man, deceived concerning the intentions and position 
of his sovereign, but whose language shows that he 
has a real attachment to the King." 

When the Queen went up to see the Dauphin, by 
the inner staircase which connected the ground-floor 
on which her apartment was situated with the first 
floor where her children and her husband slept, she 



THE CAPTIVITY IN THE TUILEBIES. 225 

invariably found his door locked. One of the officers 
of the National Guard knocked at it, saying, "The 
Queen ! " At this signal, the two officers who kept 
watch over the governess of the children of France 
opened the door. 

It was the height of summer. If, towards evening, 
the King and his family wanted a breath of fresh air, 
they could not show themselves at the windows of 
their palace without being exposed to the insults and 
invectives of the people w^ho were on the terrace. 

Every day, deputations from different quarters of 
the city, suspicious and determined to see for them- 
selves what precautions were taken and what vigi- 
lance exercised, would arrive at the Tuileries. At 
night the King and Queen would be awakened to 
make sure they had not taken flight. M. de Lafay- 
ette or M. de Gouvion were roused up also, to warn 
them of pretended attempts to escape. The alarms 
were continual. August 25, Madame Elisabeth wrote : 
" To-night a sentinel who was in a corridor up stairs 
fell asleep, dreamed I don't know what, and woke up 
screaming. In an instant, every guard, as far as the 
end of the Louvre gallery, did the same. In the 
garden, also, there was a terrible panic." 

The precautions taken were so rigorous, that it 
was forbidden to say Mass in the palace chapel, be- 
cause the distance between it and the apartments of 
Louis XVI. and Marie Antoinette was thought too 
great. A corner of the Gallery of Diana, where a 
wooden altar was erected, bearing an ebony crucifix 



226 MABIE ANTOINETTE. 

and a few vases of flowers, became the only spot 
where the son of Saint Louis, the Most Christian 
King, could hear Mass. 

And yet, among the guards, now transformed into 
veritable jailers, there were to be found some well 
intentioned men who testified a respectful regard for 
the royal family, and sought to lessen the severity of 
the orders they had received. Such was Saint Prix, 
an actor at the Com^die-Fran§aise. A sentinel was 
always on duty in the dark and narrow corridor 
behind the Queen's apartments which divided the 
ground-floor in two. The post was not in great 
demand, and Saint Prix often asked for it. He 
facilitated the short interviews which the King and 
Queen had in this corridor, and if he heard the 
slightest noise, he gave them warning. Marie Antoi- 
nette had reason, also, to praise M. CoUot, chief of 
battalion of the National Guard, who was charged 
with the military service of her apartment. One 
day an oflicer on duty there spoke unjustly of the 
Queen. M. Collot wished to inform M. de Lafayette 
and have him punished; but Marie Antoinette op- 
posed this with her usual kindliness, and said a few 
judicious and good-tempered words to the culprit. 
He was converted in an instant, and became one 
of her most devoted partisans. 

The royal family endured their captivity with 
admirable sw^eetness and resignation, and concerned 
themselves less about their own fate than that of the 
persons compromised by the Varennes journey, who 



THE CAPTIVITY IN THE TUILEBIES. 227 

were now incarcerated. Louis XVI., instead of in- 
dulging in recriminations against men and things, 
offered his humiliations and sufferings to God. He 
prayed, he read, he meditated. Next to his prayer- 
book his favorite reading was the life of Charles T., 
either because he sought, in studying history, to find 
a way of escaping an end like that of the unfortunate 
monarch, or because an analogy of sorrows and disas- 
ters had established a profound and mysterious sym- 
pathy between the king who had been beheaded and 
the king who was soon to be so. 

The sister of Louis XVI. was like a good angel 
near him. Gentler, more pious, more resigned than 
ever, she possessed that supreme energy which comes 
from a good conscience and a fearless heart. July 4, 
she wrote to the Count de Provence, the future 
Louis XVIIL, who, having* taken refuge abroad, was 
out of danger : " Heaven had its own designs in pre- 
serving you. God at least wills your salvation. That 
is what I most desire. You know whether my heart 
is sincere when it wishes for your eternal welfare 
before all things else. We are well, and we love 
you; but I count myself chief in that respect. . . , 
Never think lightly of those whom the hand of God 
has stricken hard, but to whom He will give, I hope, 
the means to endure the trial. I embrace you with 
all my heart." 

July 23, Madame Elisabeth wrote to Madame de 
Raigecourt : " I am still a little stunned by the vio- 
lent shock we have experienced. I should need a 



228 MARIE ANTOINETTE. 

few tranquil days, far away from the bustle of Paris, 
to restore me to myself. But as God does not permit 
that, I hope He will make it up to me in some other 
way. Ah, my heart ! happy is the man who, holding 
his soul always in his hands, sees nothing but God 
and eternity, and has no other aim than to make the 
evils of this world conduce to the glory of God, and 
to profit by them, in order to enjoy in peace an eternal 
recompense." 

It was in religion that the saintly Princess ever 
found strength, hope, and consolation. " You cannot 
imagine," she wrote to the Abb^ de Lubersac, July 
29, "how fervent souls redouble their zeal. Perhaps 
Heaven will not be deaf to so many prayers, offered 
with so much confidence. It is from the heart of 
Jesus that they seem to expect the grace that is 
needed. The fervor of this devotion seems re- 
doubled." Madame Elisabeth, although not renounc- 
ing hope, probably comprehended better than any one 
the extreme gravity of the situation. She had written 
to Madame de Bombelles the day before : "I dread 
the moment when the King will be in a position to 
act. There is not a single intelligent man here in 
whom we can have confidence. You know where that 
will lead us ; I shudder at it. We must lift our hands 
to heaven ; God will have pity on *us. Ah, how I 
wish that others beside ourselves would join in the 
prayers which are addressed Him by all the religious 
communities and all the pious souls of France ! " 

The sentiments of the Queen were neither less 



THE CAPTIVITY IN THE TUILERIES. 229 

touching nor less lofty than those of her sister-in-law. 
Marie Antoinette devoted a part of every day to the 
education of her children and that of an orphan 
named Ernestine Lambriquet, whose mother had been 
one of Madame Royale's servants. The hapless sov- 
ereign adduced herself as an example of the insta- 
bility of worldly grandeur. She taught her pupils 
to deprive themselves voluntarily, every month, of 
part of the money intended for their pleasures, in 
order to give it to the poor ; and the children, worthy 
of their mother, considered this privation as a hap- 
piness. Marie Antoinette bore her griefs with a 
courage which was all the more -meritorious, because 
the emotions of the fatal Varennes journey had made 
her suffer immensely in body, and still more in mind. 
Madame Campan, who had been away from her sev- 
eral weeks, and returned in August, describes her 
thus : " I found her getting out of bed. Her counte- 
nance was not extremely altered; but after the first 
kind words she addressed to me, she took off her cap, 
and told me to see what effect grief had produced on 
her hair. In a single night it had become as white 
as that of a woman of seventy. Her Majesty showed 
me a ring which she had just had made for the Prin- 
cess de Lamballe. It was a sheaf of her white hair, 
with this inscription : ' Whitened by misfortune.' " 

Alas ! the Queen of France and Navarre is no longer 
the dazzling sovereign who triumphed like a goddess. 
She is no longer the radiant Juno of the royal 
Olympus, the superb beauty whose charm is equalled 



230 MARIE ANTOINETTE. 

only by her prestige. She is no longer followed by a 
train of adorers, who fall into raptures as she passes 
by. No one celebrates the splendor of her royal 
person, the luxury of her toilets, the sparkle of her 
jewels and her diadem. No. But in this palace which 
is now only a prison, in this captivity full of anguish 
and of tears, there is something venerable, august, 
sacred; something which is graver, more imposing, 
and more majestic than supreme power ; it is sorrow. 
Ah ! now is the moment when souls truly chivalrous 
can and ought to devote themselves to this woman. 
This is the hour when her courtiers honor themselves 
more than they honor her. O Queen ! you are per- 
secuted. For you the Hosannas are changed into 
Crueificatur ! Under the very windows of your palace 
you are calumniated, threatened, insulted. Hither, 
then, ye courtiers of misfortune ! Hasten, one and 
all ! Here your zeal will fee well placed. Here no 
one comes to seek favors, money, earthly goods. 
Here there is peril, sacrifice, and death. Come ! the. 
Queen will honor you. She will write your name in 
the golden book of the faithful. Come I the cloud 
which overshadows her beautiful forehead renders it 
still more noble. Her glances are less animated than 
of old, but they are more affecting. There is some- 
thing austere and melancholy in her whole aspect 
now, which even the most ardent revolutionists can- 
not contemplate too closely without profound and 
inexpressible emotion. Come all ! and if you feel no 
pity for the Queen, you will bend before the woman, 
before the wife, before the mother. 



II. 

PARIS DURING THE SUSPENSION OF ROYALTY. 

UNTIL further orders, Louis XVI. is a dispos- 
sessed sovereign. During this interregnum 
Paris presents all manner of contrasts. It is a 
medley of optimism and sinister previsions, of mo- 
narchical relics and republican germs. According to 
some, all evil is at an end and good has begun ; the 
age of gold is following the age of iron ; order and 
liberty are united forever. According to others, a 
series of terrific tempests is setting in. Behold ! say 
they, what black clouds hang on the horizon : riot, 
revolution, famine, religious war, civil war, foreign 
war, invasion, dismemberment, calamities of every 
kind. Meanwhile there is contention everywhere. 
On this side the Jacobins, more revolutionary than 
the Revolution itself ; on that, the conservatives, 
more royalist than the King. Lack of discipline in 
the army; schism in religion; in the salons, no less 
than in the public resorts, quarrelling, hatred, in- 
vective. At the theatres every play gives rise to 
allusions and conflicts : at the Frangais the Saint 
Bartholomew scenes of Joseph Ch^nier's Charles IX. 

231 



232 31 ABIE ANTOINETTE. 

carry public fury even to convulsions ; at the Opera, 
the royalists enthusiastically applaud, while the re- 
publicans hiss with rage, this line from Castor et 
Pollux : — 

" Reign over a faithful people " ; 

at the Nation, AtJialie with Gossec's choruses, the 
partisans of throne and altar growing ecstatic over 
the monarchical passages of Racine's masterpiece, and 
the revolutionists applying to Marie Antoinette the 
anathemas against the daughter of Jezebel. In every 
street and square are gatherings, seditious propositions, 
public criers, who hawk about calumny and lies; in 
the galleries of the Palais Royal, the abode of anarchy 
and debauch, the ever-increasing and imjDure stream 
of ruffians and prostitutes ; in the journals a torrent 
of diatribes, an avalanche of false news, a deluge of 
infamies. It is Camille Desmoulins who says: "Now- 
adays, journalists exercise the public ministry. They 
denounce, decree, absolve, or condemn daily ; they 
ascend the orator's tribune, and there are stentorian 
lungs among them which make themselves heard 
by the eighty-three departments. The journals rain 
every morning like manna from heaven, and fifty 
sheets come like the sun every day to light up the 
horizon." 

The press is furious, insane. In order to get 
readers it must dip its pen in vitriol and filth, before 
dipping it in blood. Wisdom, decorum, moderation, 
what chimeras are those ! We are not in the Acad- 



PABIS DURING SUSPENSION OF ROYALTY. 233 



emy. We are in the fish-market, at the cross-roads, 
in the kennels. What pleases is obscene language, 
the ribaldry of clowns at the fair, mean and cruel 
jests, and the savage cries of cannibals. Violence, 
rage, and frenzy are the fashion. Carra, in the 
Annales patriotiques ; Fr^ron, in the Orateur du 
peuple ; Camille Desmoulins, in the Revolutions de 
France et de Brabant ; Condorcet, in the Chronique 
de Paris ; Fauchet, in the BoucJie de fer ; Marat, in 
the Ami du peuple ; Brissot, in the Patriote frangais ; 
Laclos, author of the Liaisons dangereuses, in the 
Journal des Jacobins, contend with each other which 
shall bawl longest and loudest. What agitations, 
what follies, what unhealthy ambitions, what ridicu- 
lous vanities, what stupid or criminal chimeras there 
are in this ant-hill, which sooner or later the heel of 
a despot will trample down. 

Lafayette is no better treated than Louis XVI. 
Camille Desmoulins thus apostrophizes the famous 
general : " Liberator of two worlds, flower of janiza- 
ries, phoenix of chief -cons tables, Don Quixote of Capet 
and the two Chambers, constellation of the white 
horse, my voice is too feeble to rise above the clamor 
of your thirty thousand spies and the noise of your 
four hundred drums." The same journalist calls the 
King, " Our crowned Sancho Panza." Paid colpor- 
teurs distributed in public places the pamphlet enti- 
tled: G-rand jugement rendu par le peuple contre 
Louis XVI. " O day of triumph ! " is said in it, " O 
Frenchmen, how happy you are! The perjurer is 



234 MABIE ANTOINETTE, 

arrested. Frenchmen, this fall should be an example 
to you. The traitor Louis should suffer his punish- 
ment." The Bouche de fer thus expresses itself: 
" There is no room for deliberation ; the free people, 
the sovereign people, have put their hats on while 
looking contemptuously at the ci-devant King. Be- 
hold at last a plebiscite ; the Republic is sanctioned." 

Every possible means of making the King odious 
and ridiculous is sought for. He is represented in 
caricatures with the body of a swine and the forehead 
of a ram. If the Orleanists and republicans are to 
be believed, he has lost his reason. He demands 
post-horses, he wants to put himself at the head of 
his troops and fight his enemies ; at another moment 
he proposes to abdicate ; the next instant he gets into 
a rage, seizes stools and throws at the mirrors in his 
apartment, and breaks the china vases. These stupid 
fables are repeated all over Paris. The people have 
lost completely all sentiment of respect. 

Even the churches are no longer places of consola- 
tion. There is discord there as elsewhere. In the 
eyes of the faithful, the constitutional priests who 
officiate are apostates and intruders. Each religious 
ceremony celebrated by them is a profanation, a sac- 
rilege. The Pope has struck the ecclesiastical rebels 
with his thunderbolts. It is the abomination of deso- 
lation. The pious people who still enter the churches, 
shudder there with grief and sacred anger. 

At the National Assembly the discussions become 
more and more tumultuous. Republican sentiment 



PARIS DURING SUSPENSION OF ROYALTY. 235 

no longer hides itself ; Robespierre is the idol of the 
day. " That man bears me great ill will," says Louis 
XVI. ; '' for me, I bear him none ; for I do not know 
him." The party of order might confide in Barnave, 
Duport, and Malouet, and with their aid modify the 
Constitution on monarchical principles. But the 
members of the Right are not willing to do this. In 
their view, to recognize the Constitution, even by 
correcting it, would be to sanction revolt. To join 
hands with the seditious would be to become seditious 
themselves. " Our hopes," say they, " have not fallen 
so low that we see nothing left but to accept a part 
in a comedy of frightened revolutionists. No con- 
cessions, no transactions. Good will spring from the 
excess of evil. The trial must be made, and made 
thoroughly, so that the democrats may display the 
full extent of their rascality and folly ! " Developing 
this thesis, which is the excuse alleged by all com- 
promised causes when it is sought to justify their 
inaction and their decay, the royalists systematically 
abstain from voting ; they sulk, they give a paltry, 
impotent, and peevish character to their opposition. 

Paris has become a pandemonium. What moder- 
ate man could make himself heard in the midst of 
such a howling storm ? It would need the trump of 
the last judgment to drown this noise, to dominate 
this tumult. Who, then, could have the audacity to 
seize the helm? Who would have sufficient moral 
and material force to inspire the passengers with con- 
fidence and restore discipline among the mutinous 



236 MARIE ANTOINETTE. 

crew ? There is no pilot. The vessel is about to go 
to pieces on the reefs. The sky is furrowed with 
lightning. 

The month of July, 1791, did not fail to please 
people thirsting after spectacles and emotions : the 
12th, the removal of Voltaire's remains; the 14th, 
the Fete of the Federation in the Champ-de-Mars; 
the 17th, a riot where blood flowed in torrents : cer-' 
tainly a well-filled month ! 

Rejoice, free-thinkers ! Behold the triumph of 
philosophy, the apotheosis of your patriarch of Fer- 
ney! When he died, his body was taken by his 
nephew, furtively and by night, to the church of the 
Abbey of Sellieres, in Champagne. But now the 
city of Paris desires that the illustrious dead shall be 
placed in the Pantheon, that cathedral of philoso- 
phers. The revolutionists burn incense to Voltaire, 
who was the sworn enemy of the Revolution; to 
Voltaire, the guest of all great nobles, the courtier 
of all kings. The procession starts from the Place 
de la Bastille. The coffin is raised up so that the 
crowd can see it, and the pedestal for it is built of 
stones torn from the foundations of the fortress of 
the old regime. On one of the stones the following 
inscription was engraved: "Receive, in this place 
whither thou wert dragged by despotism, the honors 
thy country decrees to thee." 

Forty market porters, vested in white albs, their 
arms bare, and their heads crowned with laurels, 
represent the ancient poets, and carry on a stretcher 



PABIS BUEING SUSPENSION OF BOYALTY. 237 

a statue of the demigod in gilt pasteboard. A golden 
casket in the form of an ark contains the seventy vol- 
umes of his works. The coffin is placed on a car 
drawn by twelve white horses, whose manes and 
bridle reins are braided with flowers. Porters cos- 
tumed as priests of Apollo, and harlots in more or 
less dingy robes, figuring as nymphs and muses, sur- 
round the car. All the actors and actresses of Paris 
walk behind it. It halts before the principal thea- 
tres and the house of M. de Villette, where Voltaire 
died, and where his heart is preserved. Wreaths and 
garlands ornament the facade on which is the inscrip- 
tion: "His mind is everywhere, and his heart is 
here." 

The Th^^tre Frangais has converted its peristyle 
into a triumphal arch. A statue of the author of 
Merope is erected there. On its pedestal one reads : 
" He wrote Irene when he was eighty-three ; at seven- 
teen he wrote (Edipe.'' Notwithstanding the eager- 
ness of the crowd, this mythological and pagan pomp, 
this funeral ceremony without a cross, without priests, 
and without prayers, excited nothing but curiosity. 
These strange white-robed priestesses, these would- 
be vestals, whose mission it is to keep alive the 
sacred fire of poesy, create a smile. It is not an 
easy thing to accord to a 'man, without becoming 
ridiculous, the honors due to God alone. Do what 
you can, say what you will, the Voltaire cult will 
never be a religion.^ 

A pouring rain suddenly disturbs the procession. 



238 MAEIE ANTOINETTE. 

Poets, muses, nymphs, municipal officers, all run to 
seek a shelter. Tlie ceremony is not over until half- 
past ten at night. The body is deposited in the 
Pantheon between those of Descartes and Mirabeau. 
The royalists complain because a public f^te has 
been celebrated while the King and his family are 
captives in the Tuileries. Charitable persons regret 
the sums expended on a theatrical display while the 
people lack bread. All those who figured in the 
procession are tired out and covered with- mud. The 
rain has chilled enthusiasm. The gilt pasteboard of 
the statue is soaked into fragments. To-morrow no 
one will give another thought to the patriarch of 
Ferney. Sic transit gloria mundi ! 

Two days after the translation of Voltaire's remains 
comes the Fete of the Federation in the Champ-de- 
Mars. The sequestrated royal family is not present. 
The optimism and the illusions of the preceding year 
are already long gone by. People perceive that the 
age of gold is not quite so near as they supposed. 
The acclamations are less enthusiastic ; the blare of 
the trumpets wakes different echoes. 

The epilogue of the fete of July 14 is the bloody 
scene of July 17. Men's minds are too excited. An 
address to Frenchmen, signed by Achille du Ch^te- 
let, afterwards colonel of a regiment of chasseurs, 
had been placarded on all the walls of Paris, and 
even in the corridors of the National Assembly. 
"Citizens," it is said in this address, "the perfect 
tranquillity, the mutual confidence which reigned 



PABIS DURING SUSPENSION OF BOYALTT. 239 

among us during the flight of the ci-devant King, 
and the profound indifference with which we saw 
him brought back, are unequivocal signs that the 
absence of a king is better than his presence, and 
that he is not merely a superfluity, but an over- 
heavy burden which weighs down the whole nation. 
The history of France presents nothing but a long 
succession of the sufferings of the people, the cause 
of which may always be traced back to the Kings. 
We have not ceased to suffer for them and by them. 
The catalogue of their oppressions was full. But 
to their crimes treason alone was lacking. To-day 
nothing is lacking ; the measure is complete ; there 
is no crime remaining to be committed. Their reign 
is ended. ... As to the individual safety of M. 
Louis Bourbon, it is all the more assured, seeing that 
France will not dishonor itself by resentment against 
a man who has accomplished his own dishonor." 

The Orleanists and the Jacobins unite. In a peti- 
tion in which it is declared that " it is as contrary to 
the majesty of the outraged nation as it is to its inter- 
ests, ever again to confide the reins of empire to a 
perjured, traitorous, and fugitive man." Brissot and 
Laclos demand another king. The petition is posted 
on all the walls. Public notification is given that all 
those who wish to sign the original go to the Champ- 
de-Mars, where it lies on the Altar of the Country, 
left standing since the F^te of the 14th. Sunday, 
July 17, is fixed for these signatures. The advocates 
of the deposition arrive in crowds at the Champ-de- 



240 MARIE ANTOINETTE. 

Mars at three in the afternoon; but Lafayette and 
Bailly oppose the manifestation. The municipality 
has decided to display the red flag and proclaim mar- 
tial law. The rioters shout: "Down with the red 
flag ! down with the bayonets I" A hail of stones 
follows these vociferations. The National Guards 
fire several times in the air. Some of the people take 
to flight. But the leaders, recovering from ^heir 
first fright, on seeing that no one is wounded rally 
the flying. They begin to throw stones again. La- 
fayette orders a second discharge, which this time 
is real. The ground is covered with dead bodies. 
From the Champ-de-Mars the panic spreads in every 
direction. Parisians who are taking the air in the 
Champs Elys^es are appalled. If Lafayette chose, it 
would be all up with republican outbreaks for a long 
time. The demagogues think they are lost. They 
tremble. But the next day they are permitted to raise 
their heads; their journals reappear. They return 
tranquilly to their clubs. Reassured by the hesitation 
of their adversaries, they requite it by audacity, and 
the Revolution goes on its way. 

There are many who are deeply afflicted by these 
scandals and troubles. But the greater number find 
a sort of pleasure in them. This perpetual agitation, 
this political fury, these violent emotions, these 
shocks, these unforeseen and rapid crises which suc- 
ceed each other like so many scenes in a melodrama, 
please many persons greatly. They have become so 
accustomed to fever that they do not desire health. 



PABIS DURING SUSPENSION OF BOYALTY, 241 

Repose would weary minds so eager after exciting 
scenes. They are interested in parliamentary conten- 
tions as Spaniards are in bull fights. It is the same 
effervescence, the same shouts, the same tumult. It is 
all the more agreeable to them to see the giants falling, 
because, in former days, they could only be looked at 
kneeling. The instinct of equality finds satisfaction 
in the levelling of the throne. The sufferings of roy- 
alty, of the clergy, and of the nobility are the delights 
of the common people. Honest citizens and National 
Guards rejoice in the lessons administered to power, 
and the future Septembrists already scent an odor of 
blood in the air. 



III. 

THE EMIGEATION. 

WE have just looked at Paris. Now let us cast 
a rapid glance at foreign parts. 

The tidings of the flight of the King and his family- 
had awakened delirious joy abroad. The ^migr^s 
began to entertain the most flattering hopes. They 
felicitated, they embraced each other. At Brussels 
great entertainments were preparing in expectation 
of the courier who should announce that Louis XVI. 
had happily crossed the frontier. The disaster at 
Varennes came to chill -this overflow of joy. 

The emigration which, thus far, had not been very 
extensive, now became almost general among the 
nobility, the clergy, and even the upper middle class. 
In Paris and the chief provincial cities, committees 
were appointed to facilitate this universal flight. 
Wild enthusiasts urged the nobles to abandon their 
families and their estates, and fly like exiles to a 
foreign country. It was a grand mistake ; the place 
for the nobility was beside the King, not elsewhere. 
That a loyal aristocracy should follow an exiled 
sovereign is comprehensible ; but that it should 

242 



THE EMIGBATION. 243 



abandon him to the gravest perils in his own domin- 
ions, and go wandering from court to court instead 
of remaining where it belongs and playing a national 
part, seems inadmissible. If the emigres had em- 
ployed at home half the energy and the efforts which 
they fruitlessly employed abroad, the throne would 
have been saved. But passion does not reason. It 
is only a question of a little trip to the borders of the 
Rhine, said they. In five or six weeks we shall come 
back triumphant. All one has to do is to show his 
crest, a white handkerchief, the Prince of Condi's 
boot, and six francs' worth of cord to hang the revo- 
lutionary chiefs with. 

Exasperated by the failure of the Varennes jour- 
ney, the Marquis de Bouille anathematized the 
National Assembly. A new Coriolanus, he threat- 
ened his country with the thunderbolts of his wrath 
and vengeance. He wrote a letter from Luxembourg 
to the Assembly. ''The King," he says in it, "has 
just made an effort to break the chains in which you 
have so long detained him and his unfortunate family. 
But a blind destiny which governs empires, and 
against which human prudence avails nothing, has 
determined otherwise. He is still your prisoner. His 
life and that of his Queen are— I shudder at the 
thought — at the mercy of a people whom you have 
rendered ferocious and sanguinary, and who have 
become an object of scorn to the universe." The 
irascible general thus accentuates his threat: "I 
know better than any one what means of defence you 



244 MARIE ANTOINETTE. 

have at command; they amount to nothing. Your 
chastisement will serve as an example to posterity. 
. . . You will answer for the safety of the King and 
his family, I do not say to me, but to all kings, and I 
declare to you, that if a single hair of his head is 
touched, not one stone of Paris will be left upon 
another. I know the roads ; I will drive invading 
armies through them. This letter is but the herald 
of the manifesto of all European sovereigns. They 
will teach you, in more emphatic style, what you 
have to do and what you have to fear. Adieu, 
gentlemen; I end without compliments. My senti- 
ments are known to you." 

During this time the King's two brothers, the 
future Louis XVIII. and the future Charles X., were 
seeking to form a European coalition against the 
Revolution. Their uncle Louis Wenceslas, Elector 
of Treves, had received them at Coblentz with cordial 
hospitality. Coblentz was at this time the Paris of 
Germany. The head of the house of Conde organ- 
ized there the staffs of the Princes' army ; plenty of 
officers, no soldiers ; a head, but a head separated from 
the trunk. Calonne had the administration of finances, 
which was very like a sinecure. Marshal de Broglie 
was Minister of War. They allotted all the offices, of 
State in advance, as Pompey's Roman knights did 
on the eve of Pharsalia. 

The hero of the emigration was the King of 
Sweden, whose portrait has been so well drawn by 
M. Geffroy in his admirable work, Crustave III. et la 



THE EMIGRATION. 245 

cour de France. On his arrival at Aix-la-Chapelle, 
Gustavus did not wholly share the illusions of the 
French ^migr^s. June 16, 1791, he wrote: "I 
have found here nearly all the chief nobility of 
France. These illustrious exiles form a very agree- 
able society. They are all animated with equal hatred 
against the National Assembly, and have, besides, 
such exaggerated notions on all subjects as you can 
form no idea of. It is really both sad and curious to 
listen to and observe them." But the Swedish mon- 
arch soon felt the influence of his environment. The 
imprisonment of Louis XYI. in the Tuileries made 
him indignant. 

Very proud of the golden sword Marie Antoinette 
had sent him, with this device, For the defence of 
the oppressed^ the King of Sweden held court at Aix- 
la-Chapelle, with Fersen, d'Escar, Breteuil, Calonne, 
M. and Madame de Saint Priest, the Marquis de 
Bouille, and Mesdames d'Harcourt, de Croy, and de 
Lamballe. 

Of a bold and chivalrous spirit, fond of adventure, 
and burning with the desire to attract public atten- 
tion and make himself talked about by kings and 
peoples, Gustavus became intoxicated with the self- 
seeking flatteries with which the French nobles plied 
him. To them he was not merely a paladin and a 
protector, but a host. Three times a week he invited 
a hundred of the emigres to dinner, — a courtesy 
particularly welcome to gentlemen Avhom the lack 
of money sometimes reduced to a diet of potatoes 



246 MABIE ANTOINETTE. 

and milk. When he walked out, he was met by 
women and children who held out their arms, en- 
treating him to take them back to their country. His 
imagination became overheated. He said proudly 
that his coup d'etat of 1791, in France, would not 
succeed less brilliantly than his coup detat in Sweden, 
in 17T2. He admired in himself the champion of 
crowns, the Godfrey de Bouillon of some crusade 
on behalf of authority and monarchy, the magnani- 
mous sovereign who, having once been protected 
by the court of France, was now going to pay his 
debt and overpay it. It seemed to him as if he 
had already made his entry into Versailles ; as if his 
valiant troops, with music and waving banners, had 
encamped proudly upon that famous Place d'Armes, 
so odiously profaned by the lamentable scenes of the 
October Days; as if, crowned with laurels, like the 
great Conde, he had ascended the marble staircase 
amidst acclamations, and that the uniforms of his 
Swedish officers, the liberators of the King of France 
and Navarre, were repeating themselves in the daz- 
zling Gallery of the Mirrors. In fact, Gustavus was 
the almost unique subject of conversation in Germany, 
where he figured, not simply as the defender of the 
Most Christian King, but as that of all the princes of 
the Holy Empire. Open the Almanack de Crotha for 
1791. The illustrations are devoted almost exclu- 
sively to Sweden and its sovereign. He carried things 
with a high hand in those petty German courts where 
a perfume of feudalism still lingered and the old 



THE EMIGBATION. 247 

regime hedged itself about with all the trappings 
of absolutism in miniature. He returned to Stock- 
holm at the beginning of August, 1791, and when 
holding a grand review there, said he was rehearsing 
his future solemn entry into Paris. 

Meantime the emigration is redoubling its activity. 
It knocks at every door; it turns its steps toward 
every capital. A periodical published at Coblentz 
under the title. Journal de la Oontre-Mevolution, seri- 
ously maintains that two millions of men are advanc- 
ing to the assistance of the emigres. If any one 
ventures to express a doubt about it, the initiated 
whisper in confidence that the troops only march by 
night, so as to take the democrats more readily by 
surprise. How active these nobles are, so brilliant, 
brave, and witty, yet so frivolous and vain, who 
turn all things into jest, and who, seeing France 
only from a distance, see it badly and make boasts to 
which events always give the lie ! Let us follow M. 
d'Escars in his peregrinations among the petty prince- 
doms of Germany, where he finds Versailles and the 
QEil-de-Boeuf again, seen through the big end of the 
lorgnette. How he enjoyed himself at the court of 
the Cardinal Prince-Bishop of Passau ! " Come, Mon- 
seigneur," he said to him, " the Opera yesterday ; to- 
day a ball. Who could deny himself such an easy 
life ? . . . Hardly had the Cardinal and I taken our 
places at the end of the hall, when the waltzing began 
with a swiftness, the like of which I had never seen 
except there and at Vienna. Each lady, after receiv- 



248 MARIE ANTOINETTE. 

ing a favor and a compliment from His Eminence, 
continued her waltz. It was with a heart penetrated 
with gratitude and a lively regret that I took leave 
of such a worthy prelate." 

The Prince de Cond^, the Comte d'Artois, and the 
Comte de Provence has each his diplomacy and his 
court. Negotiations from every quarter weave in and 
out incessantly. The projected coalition elaborates 
itself but slowly. The lack of confidence of Louis 
XYI. in his brothers, the rival influences, mutual 
jealousies, and conflicting ambitions of the larger 
courts ; the financial embarrassments of the King of 
Sweden ; the difficulty of rousing the great German 
people to shake off their torpor ; the delays and hesi- 
tations of England, Catherine II., the Emperor, and 
the King of Prussia, — all these causes combine to 
retard the realization of the wishes of the ^migr^s. 
But the declaration of Pilnitz comes of a sudden to 
revive their hopes. After that they think success is 
certain. 

On August 25, 1791, the Emperor Leopold and 
Frederic William IL, King of Prussia, meet at 
Pilnitz, the summer residence of the court of Sax- 
ony. Splendid fetes are celebrated in their honor. 
In the midst of a banquet the unexpected arrival of 
the brilliant Comte d'Artois is announced. Accom- 
panied by Calonne and the Marquis de Bouille, he 
comes to plead what he calls the cause of thrones. 
By force of persistence he attains the famous decla- 
ration which, signed on August 27, 1791, was the 



THE EMIGRATION. 249 

cause of a war lasting twenty-two years. It is thus 
expressed : " The Emperor and the King of Prussia, 
having listened to the desires and representations of 
Monsieur (the Comte de Provence) and of M. the 
Comte d'Artois, jointly declare that they consider the 
present situation of the King of France as a subject 
of common interest to all Europefin sovereigns. They 
hope that this interest cannot fail to be acknowledged 
by all the Powers whose aid is sought for, and that, 
consequently, they will not refuse to employ, con- 
jointly with the Emperor and the King of Prussia, 
the most efficacious means, in proportion to their 
ability, to put the King of France in a condition to 
consolidate, in perfect freedom, the bases of a mo- 
narchical government equally consistent with the 
rights of sovereigns and the welfare of the French 
people. Then, and in that case, the aforesaid Majes- 
ties have decided to act promptly and in mutual 
accord to attain the proposed and common end. 
Meanwhile they will give their troops the neces- 
sary orders so that they may be in readiness for 
action." 

The emigres are beside themselves with joy. They 
triumph, they proclaim victory. To listen to them, 
foreign armies are about to invade France immedi- 
ately. There will be fifty thousand Austrians in 
Flanders, forty thousand Swiss and as many Pied- 
montese in Provence and Dauphiny, fifty thousand 
Prussians on the Rhine ; Russia and Sweden will 
send their fleets under command of M. de Nassau 



250 MARIE ANTOINETTE. 

and Gustavus III.; Holland will furnish two mil- 
lions ; Spain and the Two Sicilies will join the 
coalition. France, add the emigres, is no longer a 
military power ; its army is without officers, its fron- 
tier towns defenceless, its arsenals empty, its maga- 
zines unprovisioned. 

Near Louis XVI. there is a woman deeply opposed 
to the Revolution, and sincerely attached to the old 
regime, but whose sentiments, nevertheless, are far 
more French than this. It is the pious and cour- 
ageous Madame Elisabeth. August 5, 1791, she 
wrote to Madame de Bombelles: "People retail a 
thousand scraps of news, each of them still more 
foolish than the others. They say that Russia, Prus- 
sia, Sweden, all Germany, Switzerland, and Sardinia 
are to fall upon us. . . . But rest easy, my Bombe ; 
your country will acquire glory, and that is all. 
Three hundred thousand National Guards, perfectly 
organized, and every one a hero by nature, line the 
frontiers, and will not permit a single Uhlan to come 
near. The malicious say that near Maubeuge eight 
Uhlans made five hundred National Guards, with 
three cannons, beg for mercy. We must let them 
talk, — it amuses them ; our turn will come to mock 
at them." 

As to Marie Antoinette, she said to M. Francois 
Hue : " The sudden invasion of foreign troops would 
cause inevitable disorders. The King's subjects, both 
good and bad, would infallibly suffer by it. The 
assistance of foreigners, no matter how friendly they 



THE EMIGBATION. 251 



appear, is one of those measures which a wise king 
should not employ save at the last extremity." But, 
alas! there were moments when this last extremity 
seemed inevitable to her. She spoke of the Emi- 
gres with more bitterness than confidence. She 
complained of the insubordination of the King's two 
brothers. It would have been painful to Louis XVI. 
to feel himself indebted to them for the restoration 
of his authority. The idea of a regency under the 
Comte de Provence seemed to him an attack against 
the rights of the crown. He condemned the exag- 
gerations of the ^migr^s, more royalist than the King 
himself, and understood better than any one the 
futility and frivolity of what went on at Coblentz. 
But the situation was becoming so serious, the revo- 
lutionary spirit made such progress, and the hapless 
sovereign found so much ill-will and ingratitude 
among his subjects, that he often cast a glance across 
the frontiers. As M. de Lamartine has said, it was 
not the King who conspired; it was the man, the hus- 
band, and the father, who sought the aid of foreigners 
to secure the safety of his wife and children. 

It must not be forgotten, moreover, that the 
national idea was not so strongly accentuated then 
as now. Throughout the entire history of France 
we behold sometimes the kings, and sometimes their 
subjects, invoking without shame the aid of foreign 
armies. The leaguers called in Spanish troops. 
Henri IV. conquered his realm by the aid of Eng- 
lish troops. Under Louis XIII. the Protestants of 



252 MABIE ANTOINETTE. 

Rochelle were England's allies. At the time of the 
Fronde, the great Conde fought against France under 
the standards of Spain. After the revocation of the 
edict of Nantes the French refugees took service in 
the Prussian army. The English in America had 
just been asking for French assistance against their 
mother country. The monarchical and religious sen- 
timent took precedence of the national sentiment 
among the nobility at the end of the eighteenth cen- 
tury. The idea of the throne and the altar out- 
weighed that of country. The men at Coblentz did 
not consider themselves as compatriots of the Jaco- 
bins who were threatening their property, their honor, 
and their life. Shall we not see, even in the nine- 
teenth century, the heroic soldier of Valmy, the 
future Louis-Philippe, asking a commission from the 
Spanish Cortes, in the hope of bearing arms against 
France ? 



IV. 

ACCEPTANCE OF THE CONSTITUTION. 

THE acceptance of the Constitution was like a 
clear spot in a cloudy sky, though a very brief 
and not very luminous one. Marie Antoinette pre- 
tended to revive to hope. July 30, 1791, she wrote 
to her brother, the Emperor Leopold, that the influ- 
ential men of the Assembly had pronounced for the 
re-establishment of the royal authority, and that 
everything seemed tending toward the termination of 
disorder. "It is necessary, therefore," she added, 
" that nothing shall be done abroad to hinder a salu- 
tary tendency. An attempt at armed intervention 
would be particularly, and from all points of view, 
to be dreaded." But next day the Queen thus ex- 
pressed herself in her correspondence with Count 
Mercy-Argenteau : " I wrote a letter to the Emperor 
yesterday (the 30th) ; I should be ashamed of it, if I 
did not hope that my brother would understand that, 
in my position, I am obliged to do and to write all 
that is required of me. It is essential that my 
brother should send me a circumstantial letter in 
reply, which might answer as a sort of basis for 

253 



254 MA HIE ANTOINETTE. 

negotiations here. Send a courier at once to warn 
him of this." The Abbe Louis (the future Baron 
Louis, Minister of Finances under the Restoration) 
went to Brussels with the messages, dictated by 
Barnave, inviting the dmigr^s to moderation. The 
Abb^ Louis, who was one of the Constitutional 
group, was apparently the Queen's envoy. But on 
August 1, she wrote to Count Mercy-Argenteau : 
" The Abb^ will say that he has been accredited by me 
to talk with you. It is essential that you shall seem 
to listen to him and to be prepossessed; but do not 
allow yourself to be influenced by him. I am obliged 
to be extremely cautious with him and his friends. 
They have been useful to me, and at this moment 
they are so still ; but, however good may be the 
intentions they manifest, their ideas are exaggerated 
and could never suit us." Even while hoping for 
something from abroad, Marie Antoinette did not 
desire an invasion. What she wanted was diplomatic 
action, an armed Congress. " I always persist," she 
added, "in wishing that the Powers should treat with 
an army behind them, but I think it would be ex- 
tremely dangerous to seem to wish to enter France." 
The unhappy Queen, even while simulating confi- 
dence, knew very well what to think about the 
schemes for public regeneration and felicity, from 
which so much was promised. She had seen the men 
at work who were going to make France so rich and 
prosperous. She was edified by what certain people 
call liberty. She understood the greatness of soul of 



ACCEPTANCE OF THE CONSTITUTION. 255 

these philosophers who boasted that they would bring 
back the age of gold. " These people," said she to 
Madame Campan, "have no desire for sovereigns. 
We shall succumb to their perfidious but consistent 
policy. They are demolishing the monarchy stone by 
stone*." 

Meanwhile the rigors of the captivity in the Tuile- 
ries were gradually diminishing. Louis XYI., who 
had been put under arrest like a simple officer, little 
by little became King again. Certain persons went 
so far as to claim that he was about to become so 
altogether. There was talk of creating a guard for 
him. It was said that he was to be a monarch after 
the English pattern. The advocates of a parliament- 
ary system were delighted. September 3, 1791, a 
deputation from the National Assembly came in great 
pomp to bring to the King, who was still a captive, 
the Constitutional Act. They set out at seven in 
the evening, preceded by ushers and torches and 
marching between a double row of National Guards, 
and entered the Tuileries by way of the Carrousel. 
Next day Madame Elisabeth wrote : " The Constitu- 
tion is finished, and has been in the King's hands 
since yesterday. To-day the doors were opened. 
There were many cries of ' Long live the King and 
the Queen.' At Vespers there was applause when 
the King entered and went out. He has decided 
that those who have been guarding him, and also 
the Queen and his son, shall continue to act as his 
guard of honor, until the formation of his household. 



256 MABIE ANTOINETTE. 

There are some honest raen among them. Neverthe- 
less, the palace is surrounded as usual by four or five 
hundred National Guards. Paris is not in commo- 
tion. Enormous crowds come to the Tuileries. But 
they are all people who make a good enough appear- 
ance. Now and then we can see that some of them 
are well affected towards us. The others are quiet, 
and all seem glad to see their former master, hoping 
that he will promptly sign this superb document with 
which all their heads are turned, and which they 
think was made for their happiness." At the same 
time, Marie Antoinette wrote to Count Mercy-Argen- 
teau : " You must surely have received the charter ; 
it is a tissue of impracticable absurdities. With time 
and a little wisdom, I still hope that we may at least 
prepare a happier future for our children." 

September 13, Louis XVI. addressed to the Na- 
tional Assembly a message, concerted with Barnave, 
in which he accepted the new Constitution. "In 
order to extinguish animosities," said he in this doc- 
ument, " let us agree to a mutual f orgetf ulness of the 
past. Let the accusations and prosecutions which 
have arisen solely from the events of the Revolution 
be extinguished by a general reconciliation. I wish 
to swear to the Constitution in the very place where 
it was made, and I will come to the National Assem- 
bly at noon to-morrow." Upon the motion of Lafay- 
ette, the Assembly unanimously adopted the general 
amnesty asked for by the King, and a numerous 
deputation went to carry him this decree, which set 



ACCEPTANCE OF THE CONSTITUTION. 257 

at liberty all who had taken part in the Yarennes 
journey. In the morning of September 14, Madame 
Elisabeth wrote to Madame de Raigecourt: "I am 
going to the Assembly at noon, to attend the Queen. 
If I were the mistress, I certainly would not go. 
But, I do not know, all this will not cost more to me 
than to many others, although assuredly I am far 
from being a Constitutionalist." 

The firing of cannon and popular joy announced 
the arrival of the royal cortege in the Hall of the 
Manage. Louis XVI. wore no order but the Cross of 
Saint Louis, in deference to a decree of the Assembly 
which had just abolished all other decorations. It 
was a curious symptom that the Most Christian King 
should no longer dare to wear the order of the Holy 
Spirit. He mounted slowly to the armchair intended 
for him. At his left, and on the same level, was the 
seat of the President of the Assembly, de Thouret, 
who, like the King, was to perish on the scaffold. 
The Queen, the Dauphin, Madame Royale, and 
Madame Elisabeth took places in one of the boxes. 
Hardly had Louis XYI. taken the oath, when the 
President, in an affected manner, hastily sat down. 
Louis XVI., who noticed this, also resumed his seat 
without delay. Subjects sitting down in advance of 
their sovereign was in the eyes of Louis XVI. and 
his family the highest pitch of insolence and scandal. 

The Assembly reconducted the monarch to his 
palace. Acclamations resounded on all sides. Salvos 
of artillery and enthusiastic applause announced the 



258 MARIE ANTOINETTE. 

opening of a new era. But Louis XVI. and his 
Queen were sad unto death. On returning from the 
Tuileries, the King, looking very pale, entered Marie 
Antoinette's apartment. His countenance was ex- 
tremely altered. Throwing himself into an arm- 
chair, he cried, " All is lost ! " Then, turning toward 
Madame Campan, " Ah ! Madame," said he, " you 
were a witness of this humiliation. What! you 
came to France to see. ..." And sobs impeded 
his utterance. The Queen fell on her knees before 
him and clasped him in her arms. " I stayed," adds 
Madame Campan, "not through blamable curiosity, 
but because I was so stupefied that I could not tell 
what I ought to do. The Queen said to me, ' Ah ! 
go away ! go away ! ' with an accent which meant, 
'Do not stay to be a spectator of your sovereign's 
prostration and despair.' " 

While the republicans and Orleanists were cele- 
brating the new Constitution, the royalists who were 
faithful to Louis XVI. amused themselves by snatch- 
ing some ephemeral triumphs in the theatres. At 
the Nation Theatre they got Gaston et Bayard and 
La Partie de chasse de Henri IV. produced on Sep- 
tember 16. After having frantically applauded the 
passages which make allusion to the ancient love of 
the French people for their king, they went every- 
where repeating, " Public opinion is changed ; the 
Constitution will not last." They paid men and 
women of the people to cry "Long live the King!" 
"Long live the Queen ! " beneath the windows of the 



ACCEPTANCE OF THE CONSTITUTION. 259 

Tuileries. And they assured Louis XVI. that, the 
Assembly once dissolved, the monarchical sentiment 
would at once resume its vigor. 

The Constitution was solemnly proclaimed on Sep- 
tember 18, in the midst of a magnificent f^te in the 
Champ-de-Mars. The citizens embraced each other 
like brethren. The new Constitution was read from 
the summit of the Altar of the Country. Balloons 
displaying patriotic inscriptions were sent up in the 
Champs-Elys^es. The aeronauts threw down pam- 
phlets of the Constitution on the heads of the crowd. 
In the evening the illuminations were superb. Gar- 
lands of fire, reaching from tree to tree, outlined a 
sparkling avenue from the Barridre de I'Etoile to the 
Tuileries, in which numerous bands played joyous 
music. At eleven o'clock, Louis XVI. and his fam- 
ily drove in a carriage through this radiant avenue. 
The acclamations were enthusiastic. The ungrateful 
nation could not get over its habit of crying, " Long 
live the King ! " For one moment the bitterest revo- 
lutionists, the most enthusiastic republicans, became 
royalists in spite of themselves. The same Champs- 
Elys^es which three months before had been a road 
of humiliation and of anguish was transformed into 
a triumphal way. It was like a magic souvenir — an 
evocation of the happy days. The lamp-posts were 
alight, and this time no victims were hanging from 
them. Marie Antoinette could not believe that they 
were the same people. What I they had still homage 
and benedictions for her ? What ! cries of " Long live 



260 MARIE ANTOINETTE. 

the Queen!" resounded once more? But, like the 
slave in ancient triumphs, there was a man of the peo- 
ple who disturbed the joy of this ovation. Every time 
that the acclamations ceased, this man, who never 
quitted the door of the royal carriage for an instant, 
cried out alone, and with the voice of a stentor : " Do 
not believe them. Long live the Nation ! " And 
this sinister personage froze Marie Antoinette with 
terror. 

However, there was a few days' lull in the storm. 
The royal family reappeared in the theatres and were 
applauded as of old. "We have been at the Opera," 
wrote Madame Elisabeth, September 25. " To-mor- 
row we are going to the Com^die. I am enchanted 
about it ; and to-day we had a Te Deum during the 
Mass. There was one also at Notre Dame. Mon- 
seigneur the intruder (Gobel, the Constitutional 
Bishop of Paris) was very anxious that we should go 
there. But when one is sung at home, one is dis- 
pensed from going to find another elsewhere. We 
kept quiet, therefore. This evening we are to have 
another illumination. The garden will be superb, 
all hung with lamps and those little glass things 
which for two years no one has been able to name 
without horror." 

September 30, Louis XVI. went to the Hall of 
the Manege, to be present at the closing session of 
the Constituent Assembly. Bailly, in the name 
of the municipality, and M. de Pastoret, in the name 
of the departments, congratulated it on the achieve- 



ACCEPTANCE OF THE CONSTITUTION. 261 

ment of its task. "Legislators," said Bailly, "you 
have been armed with the greatest power with 
which men can be invested. To-morrow you will 
again be nothing. It is neither interest nor flattery, 
then, which praises you. It is your works. We 
announce to you the benedictions of posterity, which 
for you begin to-day." " Liberty," said" M. de Pas- 
toret afterwards, " had fled over seas, or taken refuge 
in the mountains. You have raised up again its 
shattered throne. Despotism had effaced all the 
pages of the book of Nature. You have established 
anew the Decalogue of free men." The King left 
the hall amid the huzzas and acclamations of the 
Assembly and the galleries. The President then 
said, " The National Constituent Assembly declares 
that it has fulfilled its mission, and that all its ses- 
sions are over." It was four o'clock in the after- 
noon. 

When Robespierre and Potion went out, the crowd 
crowned them with oak leaves and took the horses out 
of their carriage to drag them in triumph. They 
called one of them the Incorruptible, and the other 
the Virtuous. This ovation to the two tribunes 
presaged the future, and through '91 pierced already 
'93. 

In reality, nobody laid down his arms. All Paris 
was joyful. The bells rang. F^tes were given. 
They sang. They illuminated. But none of these 
demonstrations of gaiety deceived the sagacious ob- 
server. As a matter of fact, the acceptance of the 



262 MABIE ANTOINETTE, 

Constitution, far from reuniting minds, divided them 
more than ever. The journals redoubled their vio- 
lence. The cafes were like fields of battle. The 
reactionists who said, "Out of the old regime there 
is no salvation," considered the new Constitution a 
miserable scrap of paper, a tissue of criminal absurd- 
ities. Those who thought that Louis XVI. might 
have accepted it in good faith, regarded him as a 
ridiculous sovereign, the phantom of a king, pro- 
nouncing his own deposition. An officer of dragoons 
at a table d'h6te cried, as he shivered his glass, " I 
am a royalist, but I am not a Louis seiziste.^^ 

But, to the majority of the King's partisans, his ac- 
ceptance was merely a feint, a means of gaining time. 
"It is necessary," said they, "that Louis XVI. should 
pretend to be pleased with everything, that he should 
sign whatever is presented to him, that he should aston- 
ish the Constitutionals by his submission and docil- 
ity." 

They added that if Monsieur were declared regent 
and the Count d'Artois lieutenant-general of the 
realm, the King ought to be, as in effect he was, 
absolutely null, eclipsed, annihilated, for the time 
being. Otherwise, the attitude of the Princes could 
not be justified. And again they said : " Things will 
right themselves. The parliamentary phantasma- 
goria will disappear in an instant. It is a soap 
bubble which will vanish into air." 

" Distrust ! Distrust ! " shrieked the Jacobins. 
They were more suspicious, more atrabilious than 



ACCEPTANCE OF THE CONSTITUTION. 263 

ever. Louis XVI. is going to essay in good faith 
his r61e as a constitutional sovereign. But the con- 
tract is synallagmatic, two-sided. That the King 
may be loyal to the Constitution, it is necessary that 
his subjects shall be loyal to him ; the royal preroga- 
tives, and notably the right of veto, must be re- 
spected ; the Constitution must be something different 
from an instrument of anarchy and disorder. The 
Constitutional party, honorable men in spite of their 
illusions, would like a fair and honest trial. But the 
Constitutionals are already out of the running. , Bar- 
nave, who was in advance of Mirabeau, is now dis- 
tanced by a swarm of democrats, who see in him 
nothing but a belated conservative. It is all over 
with moderation. There is no place for anything 
but violence. The drama which was supposed to be 
finished, has just begun. The Constitution is not 
the epilogue; it is the prologue; and Louis XVI. and 
Marie Antoinette are covered with flowers only to 
make them resemble the victims of antiquity before 
leading them to the sacrifice. 



THEATRE. 

WHEN I was at the Odeon, watching a play 
in which Marie Antoinette comes on the 
scene, I looked at the place where the Sovereign 
often made her appearance in this hall w^here the 
Theatre FranQais was installed at the end of the old 
regime, and where the first representation of the 
Mariage de Figaro was given. I saw again the splen- 
did toilets, the high coiffures, and precious stones ; I 
breathed that perfume of elegance which is found 
no more. It seemed to me that I saw the Queen, 
not on the stage where they were trying to repre- 
sent her, but in her box, surrounded by her maids 
of honor and her chamberlains, saluted on coming 
in and going out by acclamations from the whole 
theatre, and giving with her own royal hand through- 
out the play the signals for applause. 

In 1791 the appearance of the Queen still pro- 
duced a great effect upon the public. But there 
was no longer the same unanimity of enthusiasm. 
The Revolution had insinuated itself everywhere, 
in salons and theatres as well as in the streets and 

264 



LAST EVENINGS AT THE THEATBE. 265 

public places. The Jacobins sent emissaries to tlie 
pit as well as to the galleries of the National As- 
sembly. Dramatic representations gave perpetual 
opportunities for insults and contests between par- 
ties. Marie Antoinette, who had great courage, was 
not afraid to brave the popular tiger. In appearing 
before the crowd, where she found so many enemies, 
she accustomed herself to face her persecutors, soon 
to be her tormentors. She tried to avail herself once 
more of that prestige which not long ago had pro- 
cured her so much reverence. She wanted to see 
whether the power of her beauty, joined to the new 
majesty of her sorrow, would not still affect an un- 
grateful people. Every evening spent at the theatre 
was like a battle given courageously to calumny and 
insult. When she set her foot in one, she did not 
know whether she should leave it without hearing 
criticisms or curses levelled at her; and when her 
coming was again greeted with applause, when she 
beheld traces of emotion and respect on different 
faces, she returned to the Tuileries with a smile on 
her lips and gratitude in the depths of her heart. 

She had not been to the theatre in a long time, 
but in September, 1791, she decided to go as a sort 
of proof of her confidence in the Parisians. At this 
time, Louis XYI. and Marie Antoinette gained a 
renewal of popularity. The National Assembly in 
its session chamber might fail in respect toward the 
Sovereign ; but the people followed him with huzzas 
in the streets. " With the disposition of the French 



266 MARIE ANTOINETTE. 



people to idolatry," said Prudhomme at this time, in 
his Journal des RSvolutions de Paris^ "such a king 
would soon be only the father of the subjects of the 
State, and from such paternity to despotism is only 
a step. Let us avoid enthusiasm." At the fete 
given on September 18, 1791, the affection of the 
people for Louis XVI. approached delirium, and at 
the one given in the garden of the Tuileries on the 
25th of the same month it rose to ecstasy. " It was 
useless for the orchestra to play the favorite air Ca 
irai^^ said Prudhomme again ; " it would not do ; they 
had to repeat royalist ditties." 

Madame Elisabeth wrote to Madame de Raige- 
court, September 25 : " We have been to the Opera, 
and to-morrow we are going to the Com^die. What 
pleasures ! I am perfectly enchanted with them." 
Madame Campan has said of these two represen- 
tations : " Their Majesties were at the Op^ra. The 
assembly was composed of all those who adhered 
to the King's party, and on that day one could 
enjoy the happiness of seeing him surrounded by 
faithful subjects : the plaudits were sincere. At 
the Fran9ais the play chosen was the Coquette cor- 
rigee^ simply because Mademoiselle Contat made 
her greatest success in it. Nevertheless, as the title 
of the piece continually suggested to my mind the 
opinion which the Queen's enemies had spread con- 
cerning her, I found the selection injudicious without 
knowing how to say so to Her Majesty. But sincere 
attachment gives courage ; I explained myself ;' she 



LAST ev:enings at the theatre. 267 

took it kindly, and requested a different play: they 
gave La Crouvernante. The Queen, Madame the 
King's daughter, and Madame Elisabeth were all 
very well received. It is true that the opinions and 
sentiments of the spectators could not but be favora- 
ble ; care had been taken, before each of these repre- 
sentations, to fill the pit properly." 

On October 8 the royal family went to the Theatre 
Italien. This theatre was on the boulevard which has 
borrowed its name, just opposite the rue de Riche- 
lieu. It was built in 1783, on the site of the H6tel 
Choiseul, for the so-called actors of the Com^die 
Italienne, who had been united, since 1762, with 
those of the Op^ra Comique. They were to repre- 
sent there "French comedies, comic operas, and 
musical performances, whether vaudevilles, ariettas, 
or burlesques." The evening of October 8, 1791, was 
particularly touching. The theatre resounded more 
than once with acclamations, blended sometimes with 
sobs ; tenderness united with respect. Nor was the 
enthusiasm less in the approaches to the theatre than 
within the walls. The populace became itself again; 
that is to say, gentle, compassionate, full of venera- 
tion for the King and his family. Louis XVI. and 
Marie Antoinette were happy to be able to show the 
Dauphin and his sister this crowd whom the two 
children had seen so hostile through the dust of the 
tumultuous return from Yarennes. Madame Elisa- 
beth wrote Madame de Raigecourt, October 12: "All 
is tranquil here; but who knows how long it will 



268 MARIE ANTOINETTE. 

last? I think it will be long, because, as the people 
do not meet with any resistance, they have no reason 
to become exasperated. At this moment the King is 
the object of public adoration. You can form no 
idea of the uproar at the Comedie Italienne last 
Saturday; but it remains to be seen how long this 
enthusiasm will last ! " 

At this time, Marie Antoinette, usually so calum- 
niated, herself regained popularity. The Co7Tespo7v- 
danee secrete sur la cour et la ville^ from 1777 to 1791, 
published by M. de Lescure from manuscripts in the 
imperial library of Saint Petersburg, contains a very 
curious passage on this change of opinion : — 

^'•December 30, 1791. — The King makes every 
effort to recover his popularity. He often walks in 
the city, and especially in the suburbs, but it is suffi- 
ciently remarkable that he has never received as 
much applause as was given to the Queen yesterday 
at the Opera.i The people shouted a thousand times, 
the women above all, ' Long live the Queen ! ' after- 
wards, ' Long live the Nation ! ' and very seldom, 
' Long live the King ! ' It begins to dawn on the 
public that this Princess, whose will and whose reso- 
lutions are firm and decided, has resolved in good 
faith to adhere to the Constitution, which assures us 
of the neutrality of the Emperor, while Louis XVI. 
regrets the old regime." 

But the good dispositions of the multitude toward 

1 The Opera was at this time installed in the boulevard, in the 
hall which was afterward the theatre of the Porte Saint Martin. 



LAST EVENINGS AT THE THEATRE. 269 

the Queen were not to be very lasting. The Jacobins 
especially feared public sympathy. They were not 
slow in organizing counter-demonstrations. Yet Marie 
Antoinette was once more applauded at the theatre : 
it was at the Italiens, on February 20, 1792. But 
on that evening the ovations were contested. There 
was a struggle, and, in order to triumph, the partisans 
of the royal family were obliged to display all their 
zeal and devotion. 

The play was one which lent itself to allusions to 
monarchical faith and fidelity : Gretry's comic opera, 
Les Evenements imprSvus^ in which the charming 
cantatrice, Madame Dugazon, was then performing 
wonders. She was royalist at heart. She wished to 
try the public that evening. According to Madame 
Campan's account, she was seen to bow towards the 
Queen when singing these words in a duet : '' Ah, how 
I love my mistress ! " At once, more than a score of 
voices shouted from the pit: "No mistress! no mas- 
ter! Liberty!" A number of men in the boxes and 
balconies responded : "Long live the Queen! Long 
live the King ! May the King and Queen live for- 
ever!" The pit answered: "No master! no Queen!" 
The quarrel grew hotter, the pit divided into two 
parties which fought together, and the Jacobins got 
the worst of it. Tufts of their black hair were flying 
all over the theatre. (They alone, at this epoch, had 
abandoned the custom of powdering their hair.) 

A large number of the guards arrived. The 
Faubourg Saint-Antoine, apprised of what was going 



270 MARIE ANTOINETTE. 

on at the Italiens, had assembled and were already 
talking of marching toward the theatre. The Queen 
preserved the noblest and most calm demeanor ; the 
officers of the guard surrounded and reassured her. 
Their behavior was active and prudent, and no bad 
result followed. On going out, the Queen was 
greatly applauded. It was the last time that she 
entered a theatre. During the whole evening her 
attitude had been profoundly touching. With the 
exception of the Jacobins, all the spectators sympa- 
thized with her. More than once she dried her eyes. 
Even the applause saddened her. The Dauphin, who 
sat on her lap, seemed to be asking why she wept. 
And she seemed to be answering and seeking to 
tranquillize him. 

This evening of February 20, 1792, was to be the 
Queen's last ovation. Madame Elisabeth wrote to 
Madame de Raigecourt on February 22 : " The 
Queen and her children were at the Comedie yester- 
day. There was an infernal racket of applause. 
Jacobins wanted to make an uproar, but they were 
beaten. The duet in the Evenements imprevus be- 
tween the valet and the chambermaid, concerning 
their love for their master and mistress, was encored 
four times ; and when it came to the words, ' We 
must make them happy,' nearly the whole theatre 
cried, ' Yes ! yes ! ' Can you understand our nation ? 
It must be owned, it has charming moments. Where- 
upon I wish you good night, and beg you to pray God 
well during this Lent that He may look mercifully 



LAST EVENINGS AT THE THEATRE. 271 

on us. But, my heart, take care to think only of 
His glory, and put aside all which relates to the 
world. I embrace you." 

Madame Elisabeth spoke of the same evening in 
a letter which she wrote on February 23, to her 
brother, the Count d'Artois : " Paris is almost tran- 
quil. The other day at the Comedie, when the 
Queen was there with her children, there was an 
infernal racket which ended in an astonishing scene 
by which a great many persons were affected. The 
majority of those present shouted, 'Long live the 
King ! Long live the Queen ! ' enough to bring the 
roof down. Those who were of a different mind were 
beaten, and a duet which suggested a reconciliation 
was repeated four times. But it was only a moment, 
one of those gleams which the nation has sometimes, 
and God knows whether it will continue." 

No ; it will not continue. On the next day after 
that evening of February 20, the Orateur du peuple 
newspaper wrote: "The Queen shall be flogged in 
her box at the theatre. The Queen is playing the 
harlot." What follows is not fit to be quoted. The 
Queen was never to appear in a theatre again. Her 
brother's death was near, and the mourning she was 
about to wear was not the mourning of the Emperor 
Leopold alone, but that of the French monarchy and 
its ancient and venerable glories. 



VI. 

THE DUKE OF ORLEANS IN 1791. 

AT the close of 1791, Louis XVI. and the Duke 
of Orleans were very near a reconciliation. 
The Duke remembered now and then that he was a 
Bourbon and a Prince of the blood. At such times 
he repented of his errors ; he had an intuition of his 
duties ; he thought seriously of behaving like a good 
kinsman toward the King; but a sort of fatality 
flung him back into his usual faults, and the first 
Prince of the blood again became seditious. This 
happened once again after the acceptance of the 
Constitution. Thinking of conciliation and clem- 
ency, Louis XVI. appointed his cousin admiral, on 
September 16, 1791, and the Duke went to thank the 
Minister of Marine, M. Bertrand de Molleville, who 
has recounted in his Memoirs the details of his 
interview with the Prince. 

The Duke of Orleans assured the Minister, in a 
tone of perfect frankness and loyalty, that he valued 
extremely the favor the King had granted him, be- 
cause it would enable him to show His Majesty how 
greatly he had been calumniated. "I am very un- 

272 



THE BUKE OF ORLEANS IN 1791. 273 

fortunate," said lie, "without deserving to be so. 
Tiiey have laid a thousand atrocities at my door, of 
which I am absolutely innocent. I have been sup- 
posed guilty, solely because I have disdained to clear 
myself of crimes which I hold in the profoundest 
horror. You are the first minister to whom I have 
said as much, because you are the first whose char- 
acter has always inspired me with confidence. You 
will presently have a favorable opportunity to judge 
whether my conduct gives the lie to my words." 
M. Bertrand de Molleville replied : " Monseigneur, I 
so greatly fear to weaken the force of your remarks 
in reporting them to the King, as you desire, that I 
beg you to express your sentiments to His Majesty 
yourself." "That is precisely what I desire," re- 
turned the Duke ; " and if I could flatter myself that 
the King would receive me, I would go to him 
to-morrow." 

That very evening, at the council, the Minister 
gave the King an account of the visit of the Duke 
of Orleans. Louis XVI. concluded to receive his 
cousin ; and on the following day had a conversation 
with him for more than half an hour, with which he 
appeared satisfied. He said afterwards to M. Ber- 
trand de Molleville: "I agree with you; he comes 
back to us sincerely, and will do all in his power to 
repair the evils done in his name, and in which it 
is possible that he has had less share than we have 
supposed." 

The reconciliation had seemed to be complete. 



274 MARIE ANTOINETTE. 

But what occurred on the following Sunday de- 
stroyed all its effects, and the abyss, instead of being 
covered up, yawned again as wide as ever. On that 
day the Duke came to the Tuileries to be present 
at the King's levee. The interview between Louis 
XVI. and his cousin had not been made known, and 
hence the appearance of the Prince caused general sur- 
prise. The courtiers saw in it not an evidence of sub- 
mission, but an act of mere bravado.. In their eyes, the 
Duke of Orleans was the most dangerous and guiltiest 
of revolutionists. They .attributed all catastrophes 
and all crimes to him. His presence made them 
cry out with horror ; and they pressed around him, 
affecting to tread on his toes, and pushed him toward 
the door. Not being able to reach the King's cham- 
ber, he went to the apartment of the Queen. The 
table was already laid. Some one cried out, "Let 
nobody go near the dishes ! " as if to insinuate that 
the Prince might poison them. Ironical whispers 
and murmurs of indignation forced him to retire 
without having seen a single member of the royal 
family. He regained the stairway, intending to go 
out. As he was descending the steps, somebody 
spat, over the banisters, on his clothes and his head. 
An eye-witness of this scene, Bertrand de Molleville, 
adds, in his Memoirs: "The Duke of Orleans has- 
tened out of the palace, with rage and indignation in 
his heart, and convinced that he owed these outrages 
to the King and Queen, who were not only igno- 
rant of them, but were extremely angry when they 



THE DUKE OF ORLEANS IN 1791. 275 

were told. From tliat moment he abandoned him- 
self entirely to an implacable hatred, and swore to 
revenge himself- Frightful oath, to which he has 
been only too faithful." 

Yesterday a royalist, and a republican to-day, dis- 
contented with others and with himself, drawn by 
the fascination of the abyss, and sinking gradually 
into the gulf of false situations, a nobleman astray, 
a Jacobin prince, the tormentors will turn him to 
account before making him their victim. Sad fatal- 
ity of circumstances ! At another epoch the Duke, 
who is amiable and witty, would be loved and hon- 
ored. Why was he born in this confused and troubled 
period which destroys the very notion of right and 
duty ? One might say he had a presentiment of his 
faults and their expiation. Sometimes he tries to 
leave the scorching arena which will be so fatal to 
him, and again he comes back to it, pushed as it were 
by an irresistible force. He takes the first step 
toward a reconciliation with his King, and he is dis- 
couraged and prevented from making the second. 
Then, in vexation, he goes back into extremes. He 
will seek the elements of his vengeance in the lower 
depths of society. He will pick up his weapons out 
of the mud. He will subsidize men who to-day will 
demand- his gold and to-morrow his head. Because 
he cannot be the familiar of the Tuileries, he becomes 
the courtier of the Jacobin club. 

This used-up man, weary of enjoyment, satiated 
with luxury, gold, and pleasure, finds perhaps a cer- 



276 MABIE ANTOINETTE. 

tain amusement in the unhealthy but violent emotions 
of the revolutionary crisis. In London, with his enor- 
mous fortune, he could live quietly, without danger 
and without responsibility, out of the reach of tem- 
pests. But though he may assure his friend, Mrs. 
Elliot, that he has always envied the position of an 
English country gentleman, and instead of wishing 
to make himself king, as his enemies declare, he 
would willingly exchange his position and his fortune 
for a small estate in England and the privileges of 
that agreeable country, yet he prefers, in spite of 
everything, to remain on the battle-field of insurrec- 
tion, in t"he furnace, in the crater of this volcanic 
Paris, where his palace is the rendezvous of all the 
revolutionary bands, and the focus of all conspiracies. 
There kennels of debauchery swarm close beside the 
splendors of elegance and riches. He lives there, 
surrounded by the strangest of courts. Noblemen 
who have come down in the world elbow, in his 
salons, revolutionists starving when they ask for 
money, insolent when they have received it. When 
one accosts the Duke, one is tempted to say to him, 
" Is it to the Prince of the blood that I address my- 
self, or to the Jacobin ? " 

This personage of many faces has something in 
him which troubles and disquiets. His destiny is an 
enigma of which one cannot find the word. Is he a 
republican or a royalist, a traitor or a patriot ? Does 
he act deliberately, or does he let himself drift at the 
mercy of the stream? Are his morning thoughts 



THE BUKE OF ORLEANS IN 1791. 277 

what his evening thoughts were ? Is he not change 
itself, in politics as in love ? Has he not lost free 
will ? Is he not all the more a slave, that his mistress 
calls herself Liberty ? 

Each day the spectacles presented by events are so 
singular, so unforeseen; things march so fast; the 
excitement is so terrible'; that it is much if the Duke 
of Orleans recognizes himself, if he keeps the con- 
sciousness of his identity. His new r61e resembles 
the old one so little, that there is in his very person 
something like a metamorphosis, an avatar. The 
time is approaching when people will ask themselves 
whether citizen Philippe-Egalit^ is really the same 
person as Louis Joseph, Duke of Orleans, head of the 
younger branch of the Bourbons, first Prince of the 
blood, descendant in the direct line of Saint Louis 
and Henri IV. Yes, the time is coming when Ser- 
gent, member of the Council General, will write: 
" I saw the Duke of Orleans shrug his shoulders on 
receiving the name of Egalit^, which was given him 
by Manuel, procureur of the Commune of Paris. He 
spoke to me about it with an ironical pity when, on 
coming out of the H5tel-de-Ville together, where I 
happened to be at the moment, I said to him, laugh- 
ing: 'How well that suits you! The name of a 
nymph for you, a colonel of hussars with black mous- 
taches ! ' He replied : ' You will do me the justice 
to believe that I did not come to the Commune to 
change my names, and that this one was imposed on 
me. You heard the galleries applauding that stupid 



278 MABIE ANTOINETTE. 

Manuel. What could I do or say ? I came to petition 
for my daughter, who was about to be declared an 
^migr^e, and I had to sacrifice to that important 
affair my repugnance to this name, a burlesque for 
me.'" 

The destiny of the Duke of Orleans is a lesson 
which cannot be too deeply pondered. No person in 
history shows in a more striking manner what the 
revolutionary gearing really is. Camille Desmoulins, 
in his Fragments de Vhistoire secrete de la Revolution, 
has written : " It would be very singular if Philippe 
d' Orleans did not belong to the Orleans faction ; but 
the thing is not impossible." That is not a paradox. 
The Prince was not the chief of his partisans ; he was 
their plaything and their victim. "The Duke of 
Orleans," says Mrs. Elliot in her Memoirs, "was a 
very amiable man, of great distinction in manners, 
and of a pliant character, but the least suitable man 
that ever lived for the position of chief of a great 
faction. Neither his mind, his talents, nor even his 
education, rendered him fit to play such a part. 
Laclos was the cause of all the crimes attributed to 
the Orleans faction, and I am very sure that the 
Duke knew very little about what was done in his 
name." 

Mrs. Elliot describes this Prince as loving pleasure 
above all things ; unable to endure work or business 
of any sort ; never reading, nor doing anything but 
amuse himself ; madly in love with Madame de 
Buffon, whom he drove about all day in an open 



THE DUKE OF ORLEANS IN 1791. 279 

carriage, and took to all the sights in the evenings. 
"The misfortune of the Duke," adds the beautiful 
Englishwoman, " was to be surrounded by ambitious 
persons, who led him by degrees to their own ends, 
pushing him on until he found himself too much 
in their power to draw back. His partisans were 
enchanted when a new insult had been offered him 
at the court, for they saw very well that they had 
nothing more to fear from that quarter." Before 
that his faction was always afraid lest he might be 
treated better at the Tuileries, and so might slip 
through their fingers. 

The Orleanist conspiracies were not the work of 
the Duke of Orleans. He had only the shame and 
grief of submitting to them. At the time of the 
flight to Yarennes, nothing would have been easier for 
him than to intrigue for the crown. Instead of doing 
so, he said, " So long as the King is in the country, 
he alone is king." June 26, 1791, he renounced the 
right to the regency given him by the Constitution. 
" It is no longer permissible for me," he wrote at that 
time, " to leave the simple citizen class, which I did 
not enter without the firm determination to remain 
in it forever ; and in me ambition would be an inex- 
cusable inconsequence." 

Was that the language of a hypocrite? We do 
not think so. Whoever, at this epoch, should have 
predicted to the Duke that he would soon be a regi- 
cide, would have made him shrug his shoulders. 

Unhappily, evil influences were multiplying daily 



280 MARIE ANTOINETTE. 

around the ill-fated Prince ; and his wife, the virtuous 
daughter of the venerable Duke de Penthievre, was 
no longer at his side to counterbalance them. This 
exemplary Princess, who had married for love, and 
given her husband five children, thought herself 
unable to palliate by her presence infidelities which 
were becoming too public and too scandalous. Quit- 
ting the Palais Royal in 1784, she took refuge with 
her father ; and from that time the Duke gave him- 
self over, body and soul, to those degraded women 
who are as fond of disorder in politics as in the 
family, and who imagined that the Revolution would 
avenge them for the contempt they inspired in society. 
The Dantons, the Heberts, the Marats, would never 
have gained a hold on a prince who had remained 
faithful to such a woman as the Duchess of Orleans. 
Involved, almost in spite of himself, in the dema- 
gogic vortex, the Duke will sometimes wish to extri- 
cate himself. A secret voice will cry to him. Go on ! 
He will try in vain to take precautions against his 
natural impulses. Fatality will everywhere pursue 
him. At the commencement of 1792 he would be 
glad to take refuge, like his sons, the Dukes of Char- 
tres and Montpensier, in that asylum of patriotism 
and honor, the army. But hardly has he done so 
when he is refused permission to remain. Then he 
will ask for a naval command. The ship he wants 
to embark on will not return to France until the 
close of 1793. Had the request of the Prince been 
acceded to, he would have been neither a member of 



THE DUKE OF OBLEANS IN 1701. 281 

tlie Convention nor a regicide. But his evil star 
keeps him in this fatal Paris, where the King's scaf- 
fold and his own are going to be erected. One 
might say that some mysterious force is pushing him 
toward the abyss. It is only by a sort of chance that 
he will be elected to the Convention, in which he 
is to play such a melancholy r51e. The twenty-three 
first deputies of Paris were chosen on September 18, 
1792. There was but one more to be elected. The 
twenty-fourth will be the Duke of Orleans. He will 
have only the strictly necessary majority. One vote 
less, and he would not have been elected, and his 
memory would not have borne an ineffaceable stain. 
It is at this time that he will ask Mrs. Elliot if she 
thinks him vile enough to be able to pass through 
the streets of Paris without unhappiness. Then she 
will implore him "to get out of the hands of all 
these vile beings who surround him, and not allow 
the wretches to use his name as a screen for such hor- 
rible deeds." The Prince will answer : "That seems 
a very easy thing to do in your salon ; I would be 
very glad if it were as easy in reality. But I am in 
the stream, and find myself obliged to follow it. I 
am no longer master of myself or of my name." 



VII. 



THE RETURN OF THE PRINCESS DE LAMBALLE TO 
THE TUILERIES. 

IT was not alone the middle classes and the people 
who afflicted Louis XVI. and Marie Antoinette. 
The nobility also chagrined them deeply. The very 
men who had carried liberalism to all lengths, who 
had been Voltairians and revolutionists of the worst 
sort, who had wilfully cast off their titles and privi- 
leges as out of date and worthless, bitterly reproached 
the King with the destruction of the old regime. 
This great lady, a fanatical admirer of Eousseau's 
Contrat Social, could not be reconciled to the slightest 
changes in point of etiquette. That great lord, a 
disciple of Helv^tius and Baron d'Holbach, bore 
malice against Louis XVI. on account of the attacks 
made on the Catholic religion. The nobles who had 
done most to bring about the triumph of the new 
ideas, emigrated, and left the unfortunate monarch 
to bear the consequences of their own conduct. 
Others remained in France only to pay court to the 
Jacobins. As M. Granier de Cassagnac has said in 
his Histoire des Causes de la Revolution franeaise : 
" One of the most ignoble spectacles which it has 

282 



BETURN OF THE PBTNCESS BE LAMBALLE. 283 

fallen to history to chronicle was witnessed at this 
time. Families that for a thousand years had lived 
by feudal privileges, and men who for two years had 
rejected with unsupportable arrogance the liberal 
reforms of Louis XVI. and the equalizing of public 
burdens, outdid the Jacobins, whose approbation they 
coveted, by demanding that coats-of-arms and liveries 
should be abolished. They had used and abused the 
institutions of the old France, so long as they pro- 
vided them with wealth and honors ; but now, when 
these institutions merely brought them into increas- 
ing disfavor with the populace, they rejected them in 
cowardly fashion, and replaced the ducal mantle by 
the revolutionary jacket, because they could make it 
pay them better ! Why, then, had they not laid aside 
their titles, destroyed their liveries, and effaced their 
escutcheons two years sooner ? It was because, two 
years before, their titles, their liveries, and their 
escutcheons had given them precedence, honors, 
and salaries at court; but now that the court was 
poor and the monarchy disarmed, these beggarly 
nobles decorated their ingratitude with the name of 
philosophy, and made themselves courtiers of the 
people, since they could no longer be profitably the 
courtiers of the King." The aristocracy bewailed 
the destruction which was their own work. In 
spite of all the measures in which they had taken 
the initiative, they were surprised that the new 
Constitution suppressed what was called rank at 
court, and the prerogatives belonging to it. The 



284 MARIE ANTOINETTE. 

Duchess de Duras sent in her resignation as lady of 
the palace, because she would not yield her right to 
sit down in the presence of her sovereign. Several 
more great ladies deserted the Tuileries on the same 
account. This conduct saddened Marie Antoinette, 
who saw herself abandoned for the sake of petty 
privileges at a time when the rights of the crown 
were so gravely compromised and so violently 
attacked. She said : " Perhaps I might have found 
some excuse for the nobility, if at any time I had 
had the courage to displease them ; but I have not. 
When we are forced to take a step which wounds 
them, I am sulked at ; no one will come to my card- 
party; the King's evening reception is deserted. 
They are not willing to consider political necessities ; 
they punish us for our misfortunes." 

When the ill-fated Sovereign found so much in- 
gratitude, inconsistency, levity, and selfishness among 
the nobility; when she was blamed, accused, and 
abandoned by the very persons who should have 
pitied and assisted her the most, it was a great con- 
solation to meet a soul so pure, disinterested, devoted, 
and courageous as that of the Princess de Lamballe. 

The Princess had been apprised beforehand of the 
journey to Varennes. It was agreed that in order to 
avert suspicion, she should go to Aumale, where her 
father-in-law, the venerable Duke de Penthievre, had 
been staying for some time on account of his health. 
At six in the evening of June 21, 1791, a post-chaise 
driven at full speed drew up before the house of the 



RETUBN OF THE PEINCESS DE LAMBALLE. 285 

bailiff of Aumale, where M. de Penthi^vre was lodg- 
ing. The Princess de Lamballe, in great emotion, 
hastily alighted from the carriage and was at once 
met by her father-in-law and her sister-in-law, the 
Duchess of Orleans, who were surprised by this un- 
foreseen arrival. The Princess laid her fingers on 
her lips, but as soon as they were alone she acquainted 
them with the flight of the royal family, which had 
necessitated her own. After a few minutes she 
started on again, with fresh horses, to embark for 
England at Boulogne. The ship she sailed in had 
barely reached the open sea, when a discharge of 
cannon from the city announced the King's flight. 
A little later, and she would have been detained a 
prisoner. 

The Princess de Lamballe was entrusted with an 
important and difficult mission in England. She 
was to attempt to lessen the hostility which the 
government displayed toward Louis XVI., and the 
secret encouragement given by Pitt to the French 
revolutionists. Madame Campan relates that Marie 
Antoinette said to her : " I never pronounce the 
name of Pitt without a shiver running down my 
back. That man is the mortal enemy of France. He 
is taking a cruel revenge for the impolitic assistance 
given to the American insurgents by the cabinet of 
Versailles. He wishes, by our destruction, to guar- 
antee forever the maritime power of his own country 
from the efforts the King has made to build up his 
navy. Pitt has aided the French Revolution from 



286 MABIE ANTOINETTE. 

the very beginning. He will probably continue to 
do so until we are completely destroyed." 

With all her zeal, the Princess de Lamballe could 
obtain nothing from Pitt but a vague promise not 
to let the French monarchy perish, because, according 
to his own admission, "it would be a great fault 
against the tranquillity of all Europe to permit the 
revolutionary spirit to bring about a republic in 
France." Concerning this remark, Marie Antoinette 
said : " Every time that Pitt has declared himself on 
the necessity of maintaining a monarchy in France, 
he has kept the most absolute silence on what con- 
cerns the monarch. These conversations can have 
no good result." 

Her mission once concluded, the Princess de Lam- 
balle had no thought except that of returning to the 
Queen. As she had a presentiment of the dangers 
she was about to incur, she made her will. It is 
dated October 15, 1791, and breathes the tenderness 
of a last adieu as well as the sublime resignation of 
a soul awaiting martyrdom. " I entreat the Queen," 
is said in it, "to receive a mark of gratitude from 
her to whom she has given the title of her friend, ^- 
a precious title which has formed the happiness of my 
life, and which I have never abused except to give 
her testimonies of attachment and proofs of my senti- 
ments toward her person, which I have always loved 
and cherished till my latest breath. I ask her as a 
last favor to accept my alarum watch, to remind her 
of the hours we have passed together." 



RETURN OF THE PRINCESS BE LAMBALLE. 287 

Marie Antoinette was profoundly touched by 
Madame de Lamballe's devotion. Instead of seeking 
a tranquil asylum in England or Germany, she was 
bent on returning to France, and throwing herself 
into the furnace. But the unhappy Queen repelled 
this heroic sacrifice, and begged Madame de Lam- 
balle not to make it. In September, 1791, she wrote 
to her: "Do not return; there would be too much 
to grieve you in the present state of our affairs. I 
know well that you are good, and a true friend, and 
from the depths of my own affection I forbid you to 
return hither. Wait for the results of the Constitu- 
tion. Adieu, my dear Lamballe, and believe that 
my tender friendship for you will end only with my 
life." But Madame de Lamballe hastened none the 
less to the post of danger. At the very moment 
when she entered France, the Queen wrote to her : 
" No, I repeat it, my dear Lamballe, do not return to 
us at present ; my friendship for you is too greatly 
alarmed; affairs do not seem to be taking a better 
turn notwithstanding the acceptance of the Constitu- 
tion, on which I counted. Stay with good M. de 
Penthi^vre, who has such need of your attention. 
. . . God grant that time may bring about a change 
for the better ; but the wicked have spread about so 
many atrocious calumnies that I rely more on my 
courage than on events. Adieu, then, my dear Lam- 
balle. Be sure that whether you are here or far 
away, I love you and am sure of your affection." 
But it was in vain that Marie Antoinette implored 



288 MABIE ANTOINETTE. 

the Princess not to throw herself into the tiger's 
jaws. The greater the peril was, the more enthusi- 
astic was her haste to brave it. Madame de Lam- 
balle reached her father-in-law, at Anet, November 
14, 1791, and, departing on the 18th, went straight to 
Paris. The Duke de Penthi^vre said at the time: 
" I praise greatly the attachment of my daughter-in- 
law for the Queen. She has made a very great sacri- 
fice in order to return to her. I tremble lest she fall 
a victim to it." 

The merit of the Princess de Lamballe was all the 
greater, since it was not honors, but danger, she was 
seeking. It was only out of kindness that she per- 
formed her functions as superintendent. The offices 
of the court were suppressed, and the King was put- 
ting off indefinitely the formation of his" new civil 
household. He was reluctant to choose among those 
proposed to him, and to surround himself with persons 
devoted to the Revolution. " I know very well," he 
said to M. Bertrand de Molleville, " that the Queen 
cannot advantageously retain the wives of Emi- 
gres near her person, and I have already spoken 
to her about it ; but on the other hand, it cannot be 
expected that she should associate with Mesdames 
Petion, Condorcet, and others of that sort. As for 
me, the majority of those whose attendance was for- 
merly most agreeable, have abandoned me, and among 
those who remain, there are some who are the torment 
of my life." The King and Queen did not desire a 
civil household, lest the new names given to the 



BETUBH OF THE P^IWVEBB DE LAMBALLE. 289 

offices should make evident the abolition of the old 
ones ; they disliked, moreover, to admit to the most 
distinguished employments people who were not 
capable of fulfilling them. " If this Constitutional 
establishment were formed," said Marie Antoinette, 
" there would not be a single noble left near us ; and 
if things should change, it would be necessary to dis- 
miss the people whom we had admitted in their 
places." 

The court was no longer more than the shadow of 
itself. The abode of pleasure was transformed into 
a place of anxiety, deception, and grief. It was 
feared that the King and Queen might be poisoned, 
and a multitude of precautions had to be taken at 
each of their meals. Madame Elisabeth wrote to 
Madame de Raigecourt, November 16, 1791: "A 
droll thing happened . during the last few days. A 
corporal invented an order to confine the King and 
Queen in their apartments from nine o'clock at night 
until nine in the morning. This confinement had 
lasted for two days before any one heard of it ; finally, 
on the third day, a grenadier told his captain. The 
entire guard was furious; there was going to be a 
council of war. According to rule, the corporal ought 
to be hanged ; but I do not think he will be, and I 
should be very sorry if he were. The King was to go 
out riding the other day ; it was villainous weather, 
and he stayed at home ; hence, a rumor throughout 
Paris that he is again under arrest." This is what 
the heir of Louis XIV. had come to. Was it not very 



290 MAEIE ANTOINETTE. 

praiseworthy, tlien, in the Princess de Lamballe to 
come and shut herself up in this Palace of the Tuile- 
ries, where the year 1791 was ending so dismally? 
She occupied the ground-floor of the Pavilion of 
Flora, below the apartment of Madame Elisabeth. 
To the Queen these two admirable women were 
friends who pushed sacrifice to heroism. Nothing is 
more affecting than such courage united to such 
sweetness. Amid the victims of the Revolution, 
Madame Elisabeth and Madame de Lamballe are 
lambs without spot. Their ideal suavity brings them 
into strong contrast with the sanguinary hordes who 
transform Paris into a pandemonium. They are two 
angels of consolation in a hell. 



INDEX. 



Adelaide, Madame, the King's aunt, 
goes to Rome, 81 et seq. 

Artois, Comte d', seeks to form a 
European Coalition, 244, 248. 

Assembly, National, first meeting 
of th^, in Paris, 11 ; visit the 
King in the Tuileries, 12; pre- 
sent their respects to the Queen, 
14; dissolved, 261. 

Augeard, report of his conversation 
with Marie Antoinette, 8 ; devel- 
ops a plan for her escape, 9. 

Aunts, the, of the King, their de- 
parture, 81 et seq. ; their painful 
journey, 84. 

Baillon, M. See M. de Romeuf. 

Barnave, sent by the National As- 
sembly as commissioner to meet 
Louis XVI., 188; his youthful 
career, 190 ; enters the royal car- 
riage, 191 ; influence of the Queen 
upon, 192; rescues the three 
body-guards of the King from 
the populace, 194 ; rescues a poor 
village cure, 194; executed as a 
suspected royalist, 196; saves 
the body-guards at Pantin, 209; 
Lamartine's mot concerning, 191 ; 
a belated conservative, 263. 

Bastille, Place de la, dancing at, at 
the Festival of the Federation, 
68. 

Beam, Countess de, describes the 
life of the royal family at Saint 
Cloud, 43. 

Besenval, Baron de, visited by 
Count de Segur, 22. 

Body-guards, the three, their heroic 
decision, 207; their danger at 



Pantin, 209; attacked by the 
crowd at the Tuileries, 214. 
Bouille', Marquis de, in correspond- 
ence with the King concerning 
his flight, 125; anxiety of, 179; 
informed of the arrest of the 
King, 180; arrives too late at 
Varennes with the Royal-Alle- 
mand, 181; proclamation of, 243. 

Cabanis, Mirabeau's doctor, 95. 

Campan, Madame, anecdote of the 
Queen, 229; her account of the 
King's dismay after accepting 
the new Constitution, 258. 

Cassagnac, Granier de, quoted, 282. 

Chalons-sur-Marne, the royalist 
sympathies of the people of, 186. 

Chatelet, Achille de, address of, to 
the people, 238. 

Choiseul, Duke de, failure of, to 
escort the King, 153; parleys 
with the populace at Varennes, 
171. 

Chronique de Paris, the, on the 
departure of the King's aunts, 
83. 

Coblenz, the headquarters of the 
emigres, 244; manifestations at, 
247. 

Conde, Prince de, scheming to ex- 
cite foreign interference, 248. 

Constitution of September, 1791, 
acceptance of, 253 et seq. ; pro- 
claimed, 259 ; its result, 262. 

Damas, Count Charles de, his ac- 
count of the King's journey, 156; 
prevented from following the 
King, 157 ; wishes to get the King 
291 



292 



INDEX. 



away from Varennes by force, 
172. 

Dampierre, Marquis de, massacre 
of, 184. 

Danton, invective of, against La- 
fayette, 148. 

Dauphin, the, presented to the 
National Assembly, 15; apart- 
ments of, in the Tuileries, 16; his 
grace and simple ways, 38, 115, 
117; dressed as a girl for the 
flight from Paris, 138; departure 
of, with Madame Royale, 139; in- 
cident of, on the return to Paris, 
195 ; carried into the Tuileries by 
a National Guard, 216; his fright- 
ful dream, 222. 

Deslon, M., plans an attack to save 
the King at Varennes, 174. 

Desmoulins, Camille, on the Feast 
of the Federation, 60; on Mira- 
beau, 101; extract from the jour- 
nal of, on the flight of the King, 
147; extracts from his journal, 
217 et seq. ; on the journalist of 
the time, 232 ; on Lafayette, 233. 

Drouet, recognizes the King, 155; 
arrives at Varennes before the 
King, and sets an ambush for 
him, 162. 

Elisabeth, Madame, letters of, to the 
Abbe de Lubersac, 6, 228; mar- 
ket-women climb into her apart- 
ment, 7; letter of, to the Mar- 
quise de Bombelles, concerning 
the execution of De Favras, 29; 
at Saint Cloud, 43; determined 
to obey the voice of her con- 
science in the matter of the 
clergy, 108, 121 ; letter of, on the 
subject to Madame de Raige- 
court, 109, 110; letter of, on the 
King's attempt to go to Saint 
Cloud, 117, 122; calmness of, 
before the flight, 134; Petion's 
.account of her, 200; letters of, to 
Madame de Bombelles, 223, 250, 
266, 267, 270; to the Count de 



Provence, 227; to Madame de 
Raigecourt, 227; to the Comte 
d'Artois, 271. 

Elliot, Mrs., on the Duke of Orleans, 
278, 281. 

:^migres, the flight of, 242; at Cob- 
lentz, 244. 

Emigration of the nobles, the, 242 
et seq. 

Escars, M. d', his account of the 
ball of the Cardinal Prince- 
Bishop of Passau, 247. 

Favras, M. de, his character and 
the scheme for carrying off the 
King, 26 ; execution of, 28. 

Favras, Madame de, at the public 
dinner of the King, 31. 

Federation, the Festival of the, 58 
et seq. ; preparations for, 60 ; the 
procession of, 62 ; scenes at, 63 ; 
banquet at La Muette, 67 ; Fete 
of the, 238. 

Ferrieres, Marquis de, extract from 
his Memoirs, 218. 

Fersen, Count de, aids the royal 
family to escape, 128 ; leaves the 
royal family at Bondy and re- 
turns to Paris, 143. 

Flight of thevKing, 137 et seq. ; in- 
cidents of the journey, 150 et seq. 

Frebeau, M., President of the As- 
sembly, speech of, before the 
King, 13; offers the respects of 
the Assembly to the Queen, 15. 

Frederick William 11. at Pilnitz, 
248. 

Goguelat, M. de, fails to escort the 
King and changes the programme 
at Varennes, 160. 

Guilhermy, M. de, his act of cour- 
tesy to the King, 215. 

Gustavus III. of Sweden, the hero 
of the emigres, 244; holds his 
court at Aix-la-Chapelle, 245. 

Jacobins, the, insult the aristocrats, 
20. 



INDEX. 



293 



Knights of the Poniard, the sup- 
posed conspiracy of, 90. 

Korff, Baroness de, passports for, 
given to the royal family, 129. 

Lafayette gives the signal for the 
oath at the Festival of the Fede- 
ration, 65; disperses the rioters 
in the garden of the Tuileries, 
86; disperses the rioters at Vin- 
cennes, 88 ; orders the nobles to 
lay down their arms, 90 ; on the 
side of the priests who take the 
oath, 106; attempts in vain to 
overcome the resistance of the 
National Guard to the King's 
departure, 116; takes measures 
to pursue the fugitives, 146 ; op- 
poses the manifestation for a new 
king, 240. 

Lafayette, Madame de, attachment 
of to the Catholic cause, 106. 

Lagache pursues Drouet, 155. 

Lamartine, his mot concerning 
Mirabeau and Barnave, 191 ; con- 
cerning Marie Antoinette, 215; 
remark of, concerning Louis 
XVL, 251. 

Lamballe, Princess de, goes to the 
Queen, 6 ; her mission to England, 
285 ; makes her will and returns 
to France, 286. 

Leopold, Emperor of Austria, will- 
ingness of, to serve the King, 
125 ; at Pilnitz, 248. 

Louis XVI. returns to the Tuileries, 
'1 ; always an optimist, 5, 10, 17, 
43; letter of, to the Assembly, 10; 
apartments of, in the Tuileries, 
12 ; National Assembly intro- 
duced to, 12; his reply, 13; his 
pious advice to his daughter on 

^ her first communion, 36 ; at Saint 
Cloud, 41 ; oath of, at the Festival 
of the Federation, 66; a breach 
in the ranks of his adherents, 
79 ; too weak to approve or dis- 
avow emigration, 80; in secret 
relations with it, 80; does not 



oppose the departure of his 
aunts, 81; orders the dispersal 
of the rioters in the gardens of 
the Tuileries, 86 ; but the shadow 
of a King, 87; in distress, 89; his 
remorse because of his sanction 
to the Civil Constitution of the 
clergy, 104; receives a letter 
from the Pope, 110; his experi- 
ences during Holy Week, 1791, 
112 et seq. ; attempts to go to 
Saint Cloud, 114; the National 
Guards prevent his departure, 
116; dismisses his most faithful 
adherents, 117 ; forced to be 
present at a Mass said by a rev- 
olutionary priest, 118; his du- 
plicity, 119 et seq.; resolves 
upon flight, 122 et seq.; under 
constant surveillance, 123 ; strat- 
agems of, 124 ; his plan of escape, 
125; gives M. de Valery direc- 
tions as to the route, 132; takes 
leave of the Count of Provence, 
135; flight of the royal family 
from Paris, 137 et seq. ; disguises 
himself, 139; his flight discov- 
ered, 144 ; proclamation of, read 
to the Assembly, 145; incidents 
of the journey, 150 et seq. ; rec- 
ognized by Drouet, 155; arrival 
at Varennes, 159; miscarriage 
there, 160 et seq. ; arrest of, 1^5 ; 
a prisoner in the house of M. 
Sauce, 167 ; temporizes and hesi- 
tates, 168 ; speech of, to the people 
of Varennes, 169; the decree for 
his arrest arrives, 176; decides 
to yield, 178 ; his return to Paris, 
183 et seq.; conduct of the coun- 
try people towards, 184 ; extreme 
painfulness of the journey, 185 ; 
met at Chateau-sur-Marne by 
the National Guard who force 
hira to continue, 187; his pro- 
posal to the three body-guards 
at Meaux and their heroic reply, 
206; his return to Paris, 210 et 
seq.; decree of the Assembly 



294 



INDEX. 



suspending the exercise of his 
functions, 219 ; convinces him- 
self that he is a prisoner, 222; 
the life of Charles I. his favorite 
reading, 227 ; caricatured by the 
press, 234; the rigors of his cap- 
tivity diminish, 255; receives 
the Constitutional Act, 255; ac- 
cepts it, 256; his dismay there- 
after, 258 ; present at the closing 
session of the Assembly, 260; 
distrusted by the Jacobins, 262; 
the Duke of Orleans has an in- 
terview with, 273. 

Louis, the Abbe, goes to Brussels 
to urge moderation upon the 
emigres, 254. 

Louis-Philippe, foreign aid invoked 
by, 252. 

Marat, protests against the King's 
duplicity, 120. 

Marck, Count de la, correspond- 
ence between, and Mirabeau, 48 ; 
his intimacy with Mirabeau, 49. 

Marie Antoinette in the Tuileries, 
2 ; shows herself to the crowd, 3 ; 
remains in her own apartment, 
6; visited by mock delegates, 7; 
advised by Augeard to depart in 
disguise, 8 ; refuses to leave the 
King, 9; receives the visit of 
the National Assembly, 14; her 
apartments in the Tuileries, 16; 
afflicted by the execution of de 
Favras, 30 ; sends money to Ma- 
dame de Favras, 31 ; anguish of, 
33 ; as a mother, 35 ; her children, 
36 et seq.; at Saint Cloud, 41; 
her fearful presentiments, 44, 46 ; 
letter of, to the Duchess de Po- 
lignac, 45 ; describes her last in- 
terview with her father, Francis 
L, 46; interview of, with Mira- 
beau, 48 et seq. ; her decision to 
take counsel with him, 52 ; the 
secret interview between, and 
Mirabeau, 55; at the Festival of 
the Federation, 66, 68 ; her plans 



to escape, 124 et seq. ; Count de 
Fersen a favorite of, 128; reas- 
sured by M. de Valory as to th© 
rumors concerning the flight, 132 ; 
informs her daughter of th© 
event, 134 ; her parting with the 
Count of Provence, 135; dresses 
her children for the flight, 137; 
loses her way and delays the de- 
parture, 144; her anger at the 
decree for the arrest of the royal 
family, 177 ; her influence over 
Barnave, 190; defends her hus- 
band's cause with Petion, 203; 
testifies her gratitude to the three 
body-guards, 207 ; her lofty cour- 
age, 212 ; refuses the arm of the 
Vicomte de Noailles, 215; her 
anxiety for the Dauphin, 216; 
the espionage of her attendant, 
223; under the closest surveil- 
lance, 224 ; devotes herself to the 
education of her children, 229; 
her hair whitened by grief, 229 ; 
fears the foreign invasion, 250; 
correspondence of, with Count 
Mercy-Argenteau, 253, 254, 256; 
comprehends the situation, 254; 
her appearance in public still pro- 
duces a great effect, 264; her 
courage in attending the theatre, 
265; scene at the Italiens over 
her, 269 ; saddened by the faith- 
lessness of the ladies of her court, 
284 ; urges the Princess de Lam- 
balle not to return to France, 287. 

Menon, Count de, ridicules the dis- 
cussion over the King's aunts, 
85. 

Mirabeau, secret interviews of, 
with Marie Antoinette at Saint 
Cloud, 48 et seq. ; at bottom aris- 
tocratic, 49; his career, 50; the 
conditions of his allegiance, 52 ; 
first letter of, to Marie Antoi- 
nette, 52; his secret interview 
with the Queen, 55; denies the 
reality of the interview at Saint 
Cloud, 71; his ideal, 72; his 



INDEX. 



295 



double life, 73, 77; his opinion of 
Paris, 74 ; of the National Guard, 
75; his advice to the court, 76; 
advises the Assembly to allow 
the departure of the King's aunts, 
85 ; resists the passage of the law 
against emigration, 88; lines of, 
on the death of a friend, 92; 
" prodigal of life," 92 ; his power 
over the Assembly, 94; taken 
sick, 95 ; scenes at his deathbed, 
95 et seq. ; his death, 97 ; mourn- 
ing for him, and his grandiose 
funeral, 97 et seq. ; position of, 
with regard to the clergy and the 
Constitution, 107 ; letter of, to de 
la Marck on the subject, 107 ; La- 
martine's mot concerning, 191. 

Miraheau, The, Socialist journal, 
72. 

Moniteiir, the, publishes the decla- 
ration of a National Guard, 90. 

Narbonne, M. de, pleads the cause 
of the King's aunts, 84. 

National Assembly discuss the de- 
parture of the King's aunts, 84 ; 
take Mirabeau's advice and allow 
them to depart, 85. 

Noailles, Vicomte de, offers his arm 
to Marie Antoinette, 215. 

Orleanist conspiracies, not the 
work of the Duke of Orleans, 
279. 

Orleans, the Duke of, arrives in 
Paris, 59; has an interview with 
the King, 273 ; his subsequent 
treatment at the King's levee, 
274; becomes implacable, 275; 
his character and destiny, 276 
et seq. 

Paris, return of the royal family 
to, 1; at the close of 1789, 18; 
aspects of the Revolution in, 19, 
21, the court not prominent in, 
24; occupied with the religious 
question, 103 ; scenes in, after the 



flight of the royal family, 147; 
aspect of, on the return of the 
royal family, 210 et seq. ; during 
the suspension of royalty, 231 et 
seq. 

Petion, sent by the National As- 
sembly as commissioner to meet 
Louis XVI., 188; his attitude 
towards the royal party, 198 ; his 
character, 199; his account of 
the journey, 199 et seq. ; his fate, 
204; crowned by the crowd, 261. 

Pilnitz, the declaration of, 248. 

Press in Paris, furious character 
of, 233. 

Priests compelled to swear fidelity 
to the new Constitution, 105. 

Provence, Count of, his last meet- 
ing with the King, 134 ; seeks to 
form a European Coalition, 244, 
248. 

Regnard, M., entertains the royal 
family, 205. 

Revolution, aspects of, in Paris, 19. 

Robespierre, the idol of the day, 
235; crowned by the crowd, 261. 

Romeuf, M. de, and M. Baillon ar- 
rive in Varennes with the decree 
for the arrest of the royal family, 
I 176; their interview with the 
King and Queen, 177. 

Royale, Madame, birth of, 35 ; her 
first communion, 36, 38; her 
father's pious advice, 36; her 
account of events preceding the 
flight, 133. 

Sabbats Jacobites, the, on the de- 
parture of the King's aunts, 83. 

Saint Cloud, the royal family at, 
41, 47. 

Saint Prix, courteous attention of, 
to the King, while guard, 226. 

Sauce, M., offers his house to the 
royal fugitives after the arrest, 
165. 

Segur, Count de, describes the va- 
rious aspects of Paris, 23. 



296 



INDEX, 



Talleyrand, says mass at the Festi- 
val of the Federation, 64, 69; 
takes the oath to the new Con- 
stitution, 105. 

Theatins, church of the, entrance 
to, prevented by the people, 113. 

The'atre Fran9ais, revolutionary 
scenes at, 20; at the funeral of 
Voltaire, 237. 

Tuileries, condition of, on the re- 
turn of the royal family to, 1; 
grounds of, thronged by the pop- 
ulace, 3; made to resemble the 
palace of Versailles, 11. 



Valory, M. de, ascertains the state 
of the public mind as to rumors 
of the flight, 131; receives the 
King's order, 132. 

Varennes, journey, the, 122 et 
seq. ; situation of, 159 ; arrest of 
the royal family at, 165 ; tumult 
in, 170. 

Victoire, Madame, the King's aunt, 
81 et seq. 

Vincennes, rioters at, 88. 

Voltaire, funeral of, 236. 



3477 



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